Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: ronald reagan

Reaching Out

“Murder–”

Oh, no.

“–Heist, you beef jerky-looking motherfucker.”

BELOVED PRESIDENT TAKING IT ON THE CHIN AND CRUMPLING NOISE

“This bitch, too.”

BELOVED FIRST LADY RECEIVING SIMILAR TREATMENT FROM A MUSICAL LEGEND NOISE

“Why not?”

GIFTED ACTRESS WHO DESERVED BETTER THAN THIS FROM A PARTNER AND THE WORLD, ETC., NOISE

Stop that!

“I was kind to the crackers.”

What about your wife?

“Don’t ask me about my personal business. I ever ask about you?”

No.

“So don’t ask about me.”

How is laying out the First Couple and your wife part of the Murder Heist?

“You remember that time Ghost Rider tried to fuck the White House?”

Nicolas Cage.

“He fucked Peggy Sue, too.”

Nicolas Cage.

“Yeah. This shit is like that shit. There’s a desk with a puzzle built into it, or a riddle carved into the floorboards. Nothing may be as it seems. I gotta solve some shit.”

Can you be more specific?

BANG!

Sorry.

“Bet your ass you are. Sorry-ass motherfucker. You’re lucky I don’t call you a Jew bastard. We know each other a long time, so I won’t say that shit out loud, but we both know it’s in the air.”

I apologize, Mr. Davis.

“Between you and me, who you trusting on a Murder Heist?”

“You say ‘neither of us,’ I’ll shoot at your ass again.”

I would trust you, sir.

“Damn straight. I’m thinking maybe the paintings have been arranged to form some sort of pictocryptic clue, or even a warning. I’m gonna have Stevie Grossman look at it. Jews are good at deciphering.”

Stevie Grossman’s part of this?

“Stevie Grossman’s part of a lotta shit.”

Okay, sure. If there’s riddles and whatever, then you’re part of the “heist” section of the Murder Heist.

“Never know. Could be the answer to the riddle is ‘Murder some motherfucker.’ Never wanna anticipate the Murder Heist. You gotta listen.”

Did it tell you to punch the President, the First Lady, and your wife?

BANG!

“I told you my marriage ups-and-downs are off-limits.”

Sorry, Mr. Davis.

“You’re a shining example of how fucking mediocre a white man’s allowed to be in this world. You think Caspar Weinberger is here?”

Why?

“I wanna punch Caspar fucking Weinberger.”

Is that part of the Murder Heist?

“Let’s find out.”

FOURTEEN YEARS EARLIER, BUT ALSO SIMULTANEOUSLY BECAUSE OF TIME SHEATH-RELATED BULLSHIT NOISE

“Mr. Brown, we can’t have it. Not this administration, not the people of America, not the Black community. The unrest in the streets has got to stop, and I would, uh, greatly appreciate your counsel on that. But, firstly, I want you to get MIles Davis to stop coldcocking Republicans”

“A man can act th’ fool sometime, but not always and not in some places. Man’s gotta be dignified in th’ White House! Man’s gotta be respectable and serious. Can’t be punchin’ on old white people.”

“Yes, yes. We’re of a mind about this. He, uh, just nut-shotted George Schultz.”

“We can’t be havin’ it!”

“No, no. All of this is out of the question, the events of the past few days. We’re informed this is all part of something called a, uh, Murder Heist. That is the name. Whether it is euphemistic is yet to be seen. As of yet, no one has died.”

THE ULTIMATE SOUL BROTHER PEEKING OUT A SLIGHTLY CURVED DOOR NOISE

“Gonna be honest, Mr. President: Nancy looks dead.”

“She’s a very slight woman. I can’t imagine her taking much of a beating before succumbing to her wounds. The nation mourns.”

“She was the eleganzo bean in America’s stew.”

“Yes, well, all right. Please, Mr. Brown. Go calm Miles Davis down before he kneecaps Lawrence Eagleberger.”

“The Jew is a man who can be partnered with!”

“I’ve not found that. My dealings with them have been less than sound. You may, of course, have had different experiences. I can only speak to my personal experiences with members of the race. Incidental to his people’s beliefs is the fact that he cannot be pummeled by a trumpeter at a White House banquet. How does that look to the Chinese?”

“They on the come-up.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Wanna go in they house, gotta take off your shoes.”

“Also correct.”

“Lumpy eggs.”

“Afterwards, for sure. Consider it done.”

“Counter-attack on the attack!”

GODFATHER OF SOUL PURPOSFULLY OPENING THE OVAL OFFICE DOOR NOISE

“I ain’t kiddin’:Nancy dead!”

“We’ll take care of it. Just bring order, son.”

Couch, No Tour

I’ll give you a hundred dollars if we don’t have to talk about your clothes.

“But I want to! And, honestly, a hundred dollars is nothing to me. My socks cost a grand.”

Your socks cost a grand?

“Each.”

Wow.

“Socks are far more labor-intensive than you’d think. It’s the stretch-to-cling ratio that gets you.”

I’d rather talk about the pandemic.

“And not my shoes? I’d really like to talk about my shoes.”

They look like something a stroke victim who’d only partially regained control of his hands would wear.

“Exactly. This is from Visvim’s 2011 line entitled ‘Gnarled Tree.’ They took inspiration from clothes for disabled people. Velcro and snaps instead of buttons, drawstrings instead of zippers, pants with loose asses so you can fit a diaper under ’em. One of the high points from the House, I believe.”

Uh-huh.

CELL PHONE NOISE

I told you I didn’t wanna talk about your clothes.

“Dick.”

Yeah.

“You’re on with John.”

“Hold on, bitch. I gotta tell this motherfucker to suck my dick.”

“Suck my dick, motherfucker. Okay, I’m back.”

“Miles, I told you to stop calling. We’re through. You hurt me too badly. And you also murdered me.”

“We gonna start over I won’t murder you no more.”

“Miles–”

“Less you use the tone of voice you about to use. Then I’ll shoot you right the fuck in your face.”

“–this isn’t going to work out. Neither of us is gay, and you died in 1991.”

“Love finds a way. Grease yourself up.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

“Goddammit.”

There’s Always A Dead Connection, Volume 312: Chicago Edition

This is the Universal Music Publishing Group, or UMPG. It used to be MCA Music, which was a subsidiary of the Music Corporation of America, a company founded by Jules Stein in 1924 to book acts into nightclubs. You’d be amazed at the types of people you meet in nightclubs.

MCA became the most powerful company in Hollywood under the leadership of a guy named Lew Wasserman. This is Lew:

Lew was cunning, and ruthless, and brilliant, but most of all: Lew was lucky. Never–not once–did any of his productions have union troubles. Lucky guy.

Wanna guess who Lew’s best friend was? (As far as mogul types have best friends, anyway.) C’mon, guess.

Sid Korshak! Lew used to start every day with a call to Sid, and that’s the way his day ended, too. Maybe they talked about baseball, or the weather. Sid was Lew’s bestest friend, except for one other guy, a former lifeguard from Illinois.

Always a Dead connection.

A Movie Actor? President?

Mr. President?

“Hello.”

Uh, hi. What are you doing, sir?

“It’s called business. When you don’t have any lines, you just fiddle with something.”

No, sir. I meant: what are you doing here?

“I don’t recall.”

Sure.

“It’s 1988 in this picture. I go in and out. Now, tell ol’ Dutch what’s going on out there.”

What’s the last thing you remember?

“Refusing to make any more movies with that damned monkey.”

Wow.

“I marched right into Jack Warner’s office, waited for him to finish getting serviced by a starlet, and I told him flat-out. Incidentally, I met Nancy that day. I remember becoming a Republican.”

Right. You used to be a Democrat. What happened?

“Hippies.”

You hated hippies.

“Terrible children. Foul little monsters. Did you know I was a war hero?”

You were in the propaganda service. You made movies for the Army.

“No, no. Hero. Now tell your president what’s happening.”

I literally do not know how to explain it to you.

“Do it for the Gipper.”

I can’t, sir.

“Young man, I defeated the Soviet Empire for you.”

Yeaaaah, here’s the thing about that: they’re back.

“If you’re lying to me, I’ll have George Schultz suplex you.”

Not lying.

“He wrestled at Princeton. Tough guy.”

I believe you, sir. The Russians made a comeback.

“Like Judy Garland?’

Kinda.

“That damned Communism!”

They’re not really Commies anymore.

“Well, what are they?”

Sort of went back to having a czar.

“Still got the red flag?”

Nah.

“That’s too bad. Between you and me, I liked the flag. Only good thing about the whole situation. ‘Trust, but verify.’ You’ve heard that, right?”

Yes, sir.

“Is that rule still being followed?”

No. The opposite.

“What the hell is going on? Who’s in the White House?”

I don’t want to tell you.

“Now!”

Donald Trump.

“The real estate asshole?

Yes.

“Why would you do that?”

I didn’t.

“Why would anyone do that? Explain your present to the Gipper.”

I keep telling you: I CANNOT.

“Don’t yell at the Gipper.”

I’m sorry, Mr. President. I hate to be the one to tell you this. Although, in many ways, you planted the seeds for this.

“Oh, no. I’m a war hero.”

Yes, sir.

Excuse me.

Hey, get out of here. I’m talking to President Reagan. He’s awesome.

He is not.

No, not according to the record or the facts, but I was too young to understand anything about politics when Reagan was in office; I just knew that he looked like my Grandpa Jack, and he had a shiny black pompadour, and he was gonna fight the Russians for us, and my dad loved him. Plus his NAME WAS RONNIE RAY-GUN. The man was everything a six-year-old could want in a president. I know now that his policies were shitty and destructive, but at the time they would run pictures of him on a horse and I thought the leader of our country was a cowboy. Can’t help it: I’m just fond of the man.

Son of a bitch did look good on that horse.

Can you picture Trump on a horse?

Now I can’t not picture it.

In a red cowboy hat with Make America Great Again on the front.

What’s the horse’s name?

Cash.

Sure.

Can I get back to President Reagan, please?

Sure.

Great. Mr. President?

“Mommy?”

No, sir.

“Barry Goldwater?”

Also no.

“You are Jewish, though.”

Yes, sir.

“Supper?”

Are you done for the day, sir?

“Mommy?”

You’re done for the day.

My Brain Is Hanging Upside-Down

Things to remember today:

  • Steven Tyler and Ted Nugent both legally adopted their underage “girlfriends” so they could transport them across state lines without any trouble from that pesky ol’ Mann Act.
  • No matter how many women you beat, if you can carry a football, you deserve a statue.
  • Ronald Reagan laid a wreath at the grave of SS soldiers, and then later expressed regret for “opening old wounds.” Not sorry that he brought flowers for the men who ran concentration camps. Sorry that people got all riled up over it.
  • That pissed Jeffrey Hyman off, and he wrote a song about it. (How he got Johnny to play on it is anyone’s guess.)