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

Tag: vladimir putin (Page 4 of 5)

An Escalation Of Force

Hey, Your Holiness. Whatcha doing?

“I’m-a callin’ da Jesus.”

The phone’s not plugged into anything.

“He’s-a da Jesus! He wanna pick up-a da phone, He pick up-a da phone.”

Sure. You know why I like Jesus, Pope Francis?

“Why?”

Because you capitalize His pronouns, so He’s always so easy to find in a paragraph.

“I like-a da love He-a had for us, so that-a we could share in His-a resurrection.”

That, too.

POPE PHONE NOISE

“Is that-a you or me?”

I’m not a Pope. My phone doesn’t make that noise.

“Si, si. Only one-a Pope.”

Except for that one time in the 1400’s there were two.

“No, no. That was-a da Anti-Pope.”

Oh, right. The Pope of Rome declared the Pope of Avignon the Anti-Pope. The Middle Ages were like a dumb comic book.

“Si, si.”

POPE PHONE NOISE

“I should-a get that.”

It’s not plugged in.

“Maybe it’s-a Jesus.”

Sure.

“I’m-a da Pope-a, what’s-a da dope-a?”

“Putin catch more fish.”

“Hello, Vladimir.”

“Vhat happen to Chico Marx accent?”

“Shut it, you permafrosted fuckhead. What do you want?”

“Putin vill buy Vatican.”

“Fuck you.”

“Putin vill invade Vatican. Vatican always part of Russia.”

“Suck my infalliballs, Ivan. You know better than to fuck with the Church.”

“How many divisions you have”

“Cute.”

“AH’LL SAVE YOU, MISTER POPE!”

“THIS HERE’S MAH NEMESIS POOTER, AN’ AH’M AWFUL SORRY HE’S INNERUPTIN’ SOME O’ YER WITCHCRAFT OR WHATNOT.”

“You are-a not a Catholic, my-a son?”

“Is fake accent, Elvis America. Is lying Pope. Fake Pope.”

“YOU SHUT YER MOUTH WHEN YOU’RE SPEAKIN’ T’ THE KING OF ITALIANS!”

“”No, no. Is-a no fake.”

“AH BELIEVE YOU, YOUR FRIENDLINESS. AH TAKE CARE THIS COMMIE HERE, YOU THINK YOU C’N RUSTLE ME UP A BADGE ‘R TWO?”

“Si, si. We got-a like three, four building here that’s-a nothin’ but-a da badges.”

“AH DO BELIEVE YOU LIVE IN HEAVEN. AH’M GONNA CALL YOU HAPPY FRANK.”

“If-a you must.”

“AH DO. NOW BACK T’ POOTER.”

“Putin get crossbow vhile Elvis America chit-chat vith Fake Pope.”

“GODDAMN, BOY, YOU WORK FAST. SORRY ‘BOUT TH’ CURSIN’, PADRE.”

“I-a forgive you.”

“SWEET. HEY, POOTER! LOOK OVER THERE!”

“Vhere?

“HOWZAT COMMIE CROSSBOW LOOKIN’ NOW, SON? AH’M GONNA SHOOT YOU IN YER ASS!”

“You vill no shoot ass. Putin is quickest draw in Vest.”

“RUSSIA’S TH’ EAST, Y’ DANG CHILLY-WILLY!”

“Moscow is vest Russia.”

“NEED MORE ‘N A VEST IN RUSSIA, BOY. ISS COLD OVER THERE.”

“Not vest. Vest.”

“AH’M GONNA SHOOT TH’ FOREIGN OUTTA YER MOUTH!”

“No, you vill be eaten by bear behind you.”

“BEAR?”

“Now Putin has pistol.”

“DANG IT, AH FELL F’R TH’ OLDEST TRICK IN TH’ BOOK.”

“Vatican vill be Putin’s. Build mistress summer house. Maybe torture journalist there. Plans up in air.”

“YER GONNA BE UP IN TH’ AIR!”

“This nyet makes sense.”

“SURE, IT DOES. AH’M GONNA PUNT YA.”

“Vhat is punt?”

“A SHAMEFUL ACT, MAN! WORST THING YA C’N DO T’ A FOOTBALL!”

“Putin is nyet football. You vill not punt Putin.”

“GONNA GET ME A TIGHT SPIRAL ON YA.”

“No, I shoot Elvis.”

“MAN, THASS TH’ PRETTIEST BIRD AH EVER SAW.”

“Vhat? Vhere? Putin love animals.”

“YOU ONE DUMB BOLSHEVIK, BOY.”

“Putin let you do that.”

“NUH-UH.”

“Da.”

“NUH-UH.”

“Da. Bear is behind you again.”

“OH, NO!”

“Putin trick Elvis America again.”

“DAMMIT!”

“Putin has tommy gun.”

“THAT AIN’T NO TOMMY GUN, ISS A COMMIE GUN.”

“Putin see what you did there.”

“MAH WIT IS AS QUICK AS MAH FISTS AN’ FEET.”

“This is not quick.”

“IZZAT HENRY WINKLER BEHIND YOU?”

“The Fonz? Vhere?”

“Damn you, Elvis America. Putin loves Fonzie.”

“YOUR MISERY IS A BEAUTIFUL THING, MAN. NOW GO ON, GET.”

“Putin be back.”

“EVERYONE IS AWARE BY NOW OF TH’ REGENERATIVE NATURE O’ THIS HERE UNIVERSE.”

“Putin vill get revenge.”

“YEAH, YEAH. SUCK ON TH’ POPE’S BALLS, MAN.”

“Si, si, Suck on-a da balls.”

“OH, HEY. DIDN’T KNOW YOU WAS STILL HERE.”

“Si, si.”

“Putin vill not forget this. To the skies!”

“WHAT?”

“OH.”

“Elvis, da Pope-a supposed to love-a everyone.”

“UH-HUH.”

“That guy makes-a it tough.”

“THAT FELLA’S A REAL PRICKLY PEAR.”

“Si. You want-a da spaghetti?”

“YOU READ MAH MIND, HAPPY FRANK.”

From The Mixed-Up Files of Frank J. Russo

Hey, Garcia. Whatcha doing?

“Hanging out in the bathroom in a jacket.”

Cool, cool. Hey, lemme ask you a question.

“Yeah, man?”

You ever want to be in a storyline? You know: star in one?

“I dunno, man. Think I’ll stick with the cameos. Not really my shtick, right? Weir’s better at it, anyway.”

No, you’d be great. You’re a very dynamic character.

“The ladies call me the Human Dynamo.”

There you go. How about it?

“Ehh. What was this last one about? I mean, they’re all a bit loosey-goosey for my taste. Never liked the scatterbrained art films.”

There’s absolutely nothing artistic whatsoever about what I do.

“Still, man.”

Last one was fun.

“Numerous iterations of myself got blowdarts to the neck, man. That’s not fun.”

It was funny.

“Ha. The Russian guy? Elvis? Seemed like you just had everyone chase each other around for no reason so they could tell jokes.”

Nooooooo.

“Right, man.”

So much fun! Look what you’re missing!

“Putin still alive.”

“YOU GONNA TIRE OUT SOON, BOY! CAN’T NOBODY KEEP UP TH’ BUTTERFLY F’R LONG!”

“Putin is like fish vith huge penis.”

“NEITHER O’ THOSE THINGS!”

“Both!”

“NEITHER!”

“If you in boat, how come you nyet catch me yet?”

“THASS AN EXCELLENT QUESTION, POOTER. DON’T MAKE A LICK O’ SENSE.”

“Putin show dumb American trick.”

RUSSIAN DIVING NOISE

RUSSIAN RESURFACING NOISE

“Ptoo. Is fish.”

“DIDJOO JUS’ CATCH THAT GROUPER WITH YER MOUTH?”

“Da.”

“GIVE TH’ DEVIL HIS DUE, MAN. THASS SOME GOOD FISHIN’.”

“Spaceeba.”

thwip

sploosh

“Ha. Blowdart miss Putin.”

“WASN’T AIMIN’ FOR YOU, MAN.”

ENRAGED SHARK NOISE

“JUS’ TRYIN’ T’ PISS OFF JABBERJAW THERE.”

“Shitski.”

Garcia?

Garciiiiia?

“What, man?’

Weren’t you paying attention?”

“I got busy.”

Put that down.

“Fuck off.”

Don’t do lines, do storylines.

“Pass.”

It’s very rude of you to have an opiate addiction.

BATHROOM DOOR SLAM

I was done talking to you, too.

Rising From The Depths

Remember when there were stone-cold foxes in the front row?

“Uh, actually, the front row has always looked like this. Just, you know: younger.”

This looks like a fire hazard.

“It’s perfectly safe. Just as long as there’s no fire.”

Sure. Phil?

“What?”

Did you see Putin’s corpse?

“His what?”

His corpse. When he drowned, did you fish him out of the canal and make sure he was dead?

“No, it was time for the second set.”

Sure.

“Elvis killed him. Don’t worry about it.”

“You should vorry. Putin alive.”

Dammit. How?

“KGB dolphins.”

Shit.

“Putin name them Kodo and Podo.”

Don’t name them that.

“Putin is Beastmaster now.”

You are not the Beastmaster! Marc Singer is the Beastmaster! I was on a plane with him once.

“How he look?”

Great. Real tall. No carry-on, just had a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets in his hand.

“Vhat?”

I’ve been trying to figure it out for years.

“This is vild story. Now I vill get revenge on Elvis America.”

Aren’t you a little busy getting your revenge on the actual America?

“Putin kicking your ass.”

Y’know? In an entirely “don’t hate the player, hate the game” kind of way: I salute you, you murderous fuck. You are killing 2017.

“Putin having good year.”

Sure. But here’s the thing: can’t you have a good year without everyone else having a bad year?”

“Nyet. How could Putin be happy if vorld is not suffer?”

Wow.

“Except for Kodo and Podo. They vill never suffer. Be avarded Order of Lenin. Give them pension, dacha by Black Sea.”

Great. Could you play with your dolphins for a second?

“They vork their blowholes to the bone for Mother Russia.”

Sure. Gimme a sec.

“Da.”

Phil?

“Whaaaat? Jesus, you’re a pest.”

Putin’s alive.

“Nah.

I just talked to him.

“Naaaaaah.”

Where’s Elvis?

“At the bar showing people his award.”

Why does he have an award?

“AH WON TRIVIA NIGHT!”

Great. Elvis, listen–”

“DON’T YOU NEVER TELL TH’ KING T’ LISTEN! AH LISTEN T’ JESUS AN’ MAH HEART. THASS IT, MAN.”

Sure, but–

“BOY, YOU GONNA LEMME TELL MAH STORY OF VICTORY AN’ MANLINESS NOW.”

Oh, fine.

“PEOPLE DON’T KNOW THIS ‘BOUT TH’ KING, BUT AH AM A TRIVIA BUFF. AH WAS GONNA BE ON JEOPARDY, BUT THEY WAS ONLY GONNA SHOOT ME FROM TH’ WAIST UP.”

Is that a joke?

“IT WAS, MAN. GOOD EYE. DAMN, ISS NICE HANGIN’ OUT WITH FOLKS WHAT AIN’T TH’ MEMPHIS MAFIA. DUMBER ‘N A COUCH IN A SWIMMIN’ POOL.  LOOKIT MAH AWARD AGAIN!”

Nice.

“MAN, TH’ STARS LINED UP F’R ME! ALL TH’ CATEGORIES WAS VERY FAMILIAR TO MAHSELF.”

Such as?

“KARATE.”

Sure.

“SPRITUALITY AN’ TH’ BROTHERHOOD O’ MAN.”

Okay.

“GRITS.”

Right.

“TH’ FANCIEST O’ JEW’RY.”

That was the name of the category?

“DON’T QUESTION MAH MEMORY, BOY.”

Okay. Excuse me one second.

“YOU ARE EXCUSED.”

Phil?

“Whaaaaaaaaaat?”

Did you rig Trivia Night so Elvis could win?

“Seemed like the nice thing to do.”

Is that one of your gold records?

“I don’t know whose it is. Might be mine. One of the busboys found it in the walk-in.”

That was nice of you, Phil. Elvis loves being presented with shiny things.

“Yeah, sure. Honestly, I just wanted to distract him for a couple minutes. Son of a bitch has gone through nine entrees already. Then he wanted a grilled cheese sandwich.”

I would imagine you could whip that up for him.

“Not his version. A deep-fried wheel of cheese with bagels stapled to it.”

Ew.

“Can’t eat that way for long. No idea how he’s still alive.”

He’s not, Phil.

“You know what I mean.”

Sort of, but not really.

“Hey, is Putin still outsi–”

KABOOM

“The bocce courts!”

Putin! Goddammit, did you blow up the bocce courts?

“Me? Noooooooo.”

I don’t believe you.

“Vhy not?”

The pistol you’re holding, for one.

“Putin love Second Amendment.”

You don’t have any amendments.

“Putin have all the amendments.

Why won’t you leave Terrapin Crossroads alone, Putin?

“Hitting metaphor on head a little hard.”

You think?

“Da.”

Regardless!

“Putin invade playground next. Then take gazebo. No more storytime with Phil Grateful.”

“DAMN YOU F’R RUININ’ TRIVIA NIGHT, COMMIE!”

“Finally. Elvis America vill fight Putin man to man.”

“MAN T’ MAN? NAH. KING T’ FINK. YER A FINK, MAN.”

“Putin does not understand ‘fink.'”

“LOOK IN TH’ MIRROR, MAN. ALL SHALL BE REVEALED.”

“Fight Putin.”

KARATE!

JUDO!

KARATE!

JUDO!

“Is shame readers can nyet have our fight described to them.”

“I TOL’ HIM ALREADY, MAN. ISS AN INNERESTIN’ CONCEIT, BUT IT LIMITS YER STORYTELLIN’ POSSIBILITIES.”

“Da. But makes reader use imagination. Like radio play.”

“DON’T BE STANDIN’ UP F’R HIM! ISS JUS’ PURE LAZINESS!”

“Da.”

KARATE!

JUDO!

“Ve are too evenly matched. Perhaps ve should join forces and rule Americ–”

thwip

“Again?”

flump

You blowdart him again?

“NAH, MAN. AH WAS PREPARED T’ DIE BY MAH KARATE.”

Phil?

Phil?

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?”

Did you blowdart Putin?

“No.”

Okay. So, who did?

“You never saw me.”

Yes, sir. Where’d you learn how to use a blowdart?

“Kenya.”

Right.

Dessert

Is there doobie in that cookie?

“Well, uh, we’re in California. There’s doobie in everything now.”

“Shampoo.”

Amazing.

“I saw something, you know, just amazing at the Erotiquarium the other day.”

The Erotiquarium?

“They sell goldfish and dildos.”

Sure.

“Edible underwear edibles.”

I can’t even begin to comprehend what that is.

“Like regular edible underwear, but infused with pure THC extract. It’s a better idea than you think.”

How so?

“Well, you know: you eat the underwear, get high, and then you get hungry again and you eat what’s under the underwear. Works out pretty well for everyone involved.”

Ew.

“I’m gonna agree with the weirdo, Bob. Ew.”

Thanks, Phil.

“Kiss my ass.”

Can we get back to the storyline, please?

“It’s cookie time, man.”

Have you heard from John?

“He’s more than capable of handling some sorority girls.”

One of whom is your daughter.

“I’ll give him a call right now.”

Sure.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Mayer.”

“Oh, sorry. I was looking for Josh Mey–”

“It’s me, Bob. Josh Meyers. Where are you?”

“I’m sitting right next to you, you son of a bitch.”

“JESUS! Where the fuck did you come from?”

“San Rafael.”

“No, I mean–”

“Don’t worry about that. You stay away from Lisa-Marie.”

“Your daughter’s name is Monet, Bob.”

“Her, too.”

“You’re a nice kid, Josh, but you’re just too old for her. There’s something just not right about a rock star in his very late 30’s going after teenagers.”

“Really?’

“I’m warning you, Meyers.”

“Bob, I’m not interested in any of the girls here.”

“What about that one there?”

“I’d ruin that shit.”

“You been drinking?”

“Yup. Bobby, why is this picture so shitty and we’re circled?”

“He ran out of good photos.”

“Huh.”

“Hey, where’s Putin?”

“In all likelihood, he’s headed towards Terrapin Crossroads by sea.”

“That sounds like him. I should warn Phil.”

APPLE WATCH NOISE

“Terrapin Crossroads, try the pot roast.”

“Phil?”

“Bob? Where the hell did you go?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You don’t have daughters.”

“Bob, I wrote a song about the relationship between fathers and daughters. Maybe we could play it this summer.”

“I’m already kinda pissed at you.”

“Sorry.”

“May I continue my phone call on my watch?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you. Hey, Phil.”

“Baby Levon does that to me. Whenever I get on the phone, he’s gotta talk to me.”

“Kids.”

“Kids.”

“Yeah, so, uh: Putin’s coming to your place.”

“How so?”

“By sea.”

“That sounds like him. I’ll alert the busboys.”

“Okee-doke.”

“No, wait. I see the little bastard coming out of the canal.”

“Hey! Get out of here, Putin!”

“Putin occupy. Terrapin Crossroads historically part of Russia.”

“We don’t even serve borscht!”

“You will learn to cook. Putin teach.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Putin make changes to restaurant. Install carving station.”

“Carving station? We’re not at a Bar Mitzvah in Syosset.”

“You are Bar Mitzvah in Syosset.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, jackass.”

“Under vetsuit is tuxedo.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Putin, Vladimir Putin.”

“Seriously, man: fuck off.”

“Vhy you not book Autograph?”

“Who?”

“Autograph. Is rock band. Rock very hard.”

“Never heard of–”

“HERE AH AM T’ SAVE TH’ DAY!”

“Thank God! It’s Elvis!”

“THASS TH’ RIGHT EMOTION YER FEELIN’ THERE, OL’ BASS PLAYER FELLA. AH AM TH’ HERO O’ TH’ COMIC BOOK AN’ ALSO AH AM A SEA CAPT’N, AN’ ALSO MAH GLORIOUS HAIR IS DOIN’ SOME KINDA CRAZY WING THING. ISS A TRIP, MAN!”

“And you have a very nautical scarf.”

“GOOD EYE, BOY! YOU NEVER GONNA GUESS WHO BROUGHT IT T’ ME!”

“Charlie Hodge?”

“MAN, YER SMART.”

“Elvis, listen: it’s Trivia Night and I can’t have Putin invading my restaurant. Anything you can do?”

“Elvis America can do nothing to Putin. Putin is vinner. Elvis is los–”

thwip

“Putin should have gotten on land before taunting man vith blowdar–”

glug glug glug

BLOOP

“OKAY, AH KILLED HIM.”

“Thanks.”

“LEMME ASK YOU SOMETHING, BOY. THAT RESTAURANT O’ YER’S GOT A KITCHEN?”

“Obviously.”

“THEN YOU MAY FEED YER KING.”

“Come on in.”

“AH WILL ALSO PARTICIPATE IN TRIVIA NIGHT.”

“Cool.”

Down By The River, I Shot My Political Opponents

What the fuck are you doing?

“I gave up.”

On the storyline?

“And sobriety.”

Are you drunk?

“Dude, Kim Jong Un knows how to party. I kinda feel bad for ducking him all this time.”

He’s there?

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to him.”

Kim Jong Un is at the Alphi Phi charity benefit?

“He’s blending in. Don’t worry.”

“Hot Dog Dick, you want wine?”

“Sticking with tequila, buddy.”

“Only Korea make best wine in world. Red and white. Both kind, best wine.”

I have so many questions, but ‘ll preface with this: tequila?

“Oh my God, the world of high-end tequila is fascinating. It’s almost as complicated as watches.”

No, it isn’t Real tequila is only made from one ingredient. You cannot complicate it.

“Dude, rich white people can complicate anything.”

True. We now move on: why the fuck is the dictator of North Korea–

“Only Korea!”

–at Bobby’s daughter’s party? It’s odd enough that you’re there.

“He’s not bothering anybody.”

“Kim Jong Un gonna nuke all you round-eye fucks!”

“Okay, he may be bothering the tables around him, but he’s not bothering everyone.”

You need to wrangle him.

“Fine.”

“Kim Jong Un is buying coke from one of the randbros.”

Dammit, Mayer! This is why you weren’t in this storyline! Now, turn in your badge and gun.

“I don’t have a badge and gun.”

Go get them, and bring them back and turn them in.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Maybe that’s Katy.”

Maaaaaaaybe.”

“I loathe you.”

“Upcoming subject of a FISA warrant John Mayer speaking.”

“Who?”

“Is this Bobby?”

“Yeah.”

“Josh Meyers.”

“Hey, buddy. What about a FISA court?”

“Nothing.”

“Josh, it’s very important to me that my daughter’s party go smoothly. My promotion at work is counting on it.”

“What?”

“I thought maybe we were going in a sitcommy-type direction, but I guess not.”

“Bob, where are you?”

“Still at Phil’s. Now: have you found Elvis?”

“No.”

“You keeping an eye on Putin?”

“Yes?’

“Josh, I gave you one job!”

“Bobby, you gave me, like, three separate impossible tasks that required time travel and magic.”

“One job!”

DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE

“Goddammit. Kim!”

“Hot Dog Dick?”

“You see Putin?”

“Fuck that guy.”

“Agreed. Not the question.”

“He head towards ocean.”

“What?”

Where the fuck are you going?

“Joint of Phil Grateful. Free show. Bobby Grateful is jamming.”

It’s not a joint. It’s a classy establishment.

“Is joint. Maybe I blow up.”

Don’t blow up TXR.

“Putin do what he vants.”

Stop bothering everybody.

“No.”

I hate you.

“Putin nyet care.”

I know.

I’ll Meet Just About Everybody At The Jubilee

“Josh, you see this down here?”

“What?”

“Ah, you got me. I hate that game.”

arm punch

“These look like upstanding young men.”

“Both of them just offered to sell me coke.”

“I retract my assessment.”

“Bobby, have you seen Elvis?”

“He’s right there at that table.”

“Where?”

“That’s the wrong Elvis, Bobby.”

“Is it? I can’t see very well in this tux.”

“How many Demerol did Elvis give you?”

“Just one.”

“How many other pills?’

“Many. Have we lost Elvis?”

“I didn’t! I’m not in the storyline.”

“You got a lotta lines for a guy who’s not in the storyline.”

“We need to concentrate, Bob. Where’s ’89 Garcia?’

“I think I saw him out on the patio.”

“He doesn’t look happy, Bob.”

“Nope. Hold on. Jer?”

“Jer?”

“Big guy?

“Yeah, he’s asleep.”

“That’s unnerving.”

“You get used to it. Not quickly, but you get used to it.”

“Sure.”

“But, uh, let’s go find that hillbilly lunatic. I don’t want anything screwing up my daughter’s sorority gala.”

“Is very classy affair, Bobby Grateful.”

“Shit.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Putin daughter in sorority vith Bobby Grateful daughter.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Da. They besties. Gossip, giggle, vhatnot.”

“Get the hell out of here, you commie son of a bitch.”

“Putin in party mode. Get freak on.”

“Do not get your freak on.”

“Who’s holding?”

“No one’s holding, asshole. Get out.”

“Want to powder snoot.”

“If I get you some coke, will you go?”

“Da.”

“Josh, ask one of the randbros for coke.”

“Should I get some for us?”

“Well, obviously.”

“Gotcha.”

“Wait. Hey, Putin. Wasn’t 2015 Phil with you?”

“Phil Grateful right there.”

“Bobby, this is a very classy affair. Very nice.”

“Hey, Phil. Could you not bring foreign dictators to my family events any more, please?”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Who could?”

“Weir, tell your wife–”

“Natasha Monster.”

“–congratulations or whatever you say.”

“You bet. Phil, are you drinking?”

“Yeah, but it’s cool. I had Putin stop in 1972 and I borrowed my old liver.”

“Ah.”

“Seriously: has anyone seen Elvis?”

The Dead, Red Wedding

What is this?

“Mawwaige.”

Princess Bride reference. Nice, Phil.

“I’m with it.”

You’re very hip. Why are you allowed to marry people?

“Anyone in California is legally allowed to marry anyone to anything.”

So progressive. Weren’t you and Putin on the way to steal back all the time machines from ’85 you?

“We still are. Stopped for a minute.”

Lada break down?

“Lada broke down. Thing’s made out of popsicle sticks and promises.”

How’s ’69 Garcia?

“Really, really, really enjoying 21st century weed and pornography.”

Both of those things have come a long way in 50 years.

“Yeah, he’s thrilled. Although, he nearly shot the kid at Starbucks when he found out how much coffee costs now.”

’69 Garcia was packing?

“No, of course not. Jerry, along with the rest of the Dead, was a pacifist who didn’t believe in weapons of violence.”

Hahahahaha.

“Hahahaha.”

Oh, we have a good time. Wait: where’s Putin?

“Right over there. He loves weddings. Even managed to find a date.”

“Is so romantic. Putin love veddings.”

Is that Steven Seagal?

“Da. Is my bro.”

What the hell is on his head?

“Vig.”

A what?

“Vig.”

“Vig?”

“Nyet make fun of glorious Russian accent.”

Stupid accent.

“Is best accent. Ladies love.”

If the ladies love it, then why is Steven Seagal your date to a wedding?

“Is vingman. Going to meet tight American foxes. Butt play on bocce court.”

“You stay the hell away from those bocce courts, mister!”

“Nyet tell Putin vhat to do, Phil Grateful. Putin make love to voman butt vherever he please.”

“This deal is getting worse and worse all the time.”

SOMEWHEN ELSE

“WELL, YER BASS PLAYER AIN’T AT TH’ WATER PARK, HAIRY GARCIA.”

“Elvis, I gotta admit something to you. I, uh, didn’t think that he was.”

“YOU JUS’ WANTED T’ GO T’ TH’ WATER PARK! YOU SLY DOG, YOU.”

“In my defense, we had a lot of fun.”

“IT WUZ A GOOD THING AH BROUGHT MAH BATHING-JUMPSUIT.”

“Yup. You looked good, too.”

“AH WUZ TH’ ONLY ONE IN TH’ PARK WITH A CAPE.”

“Well, you’re generally the only one in any building with a cape.”

“NAH, MAN. AH HANG OUT WITH A LOTTA MAGICIANS.”

“Ah. So, what’s the plan?”

“SENSEI BENJY HAS CALLED ME WITH AN UPDATE. POOTER AN’ TH’ OLD FELLA HE HANGIN’ OUT WITH GOT THEMSELVES SOME SORTA SECRET WEAPON. SOMETHIN’ CALLED A ‘JERRY.’ DUNNO ANY MORE THAN THAT.”

“Did the call get interrupted?”

“AH STOPPED PAYIN’ ATTENTION ONCE TH’ CONVERSATION WAS NO LONGER ‘BOUT ME.”

“Sure. A ‘Jerry,’ huh? I know where to get one of those. When, I mean.”

“LEAD ON, HAIRY GARCIA. WHICH WAY SHALL AH POINT MAH LUXURIOUS AUTOMOBILE?”

“Take the exit for 1989.”

“WANNA GET POPEYE’S?”

“Yes, I do.”

HONK HONK

“Is there a car in the dressing room?”

“THIS AIN’T NO CAR, Y’ DINGDANG DRUGGIE! ISS A STUTZ BLACKHAWK!”

“Elvis?”

“Hey, Jer?”

“Bobby? What the hell is happening?”

“I got you fried chicken.”

“Oh, cool.”

thwip

“Bob, did Elvis just shoot a blowdart into my ne–”

flump

“He was getting in the car!”

“CAN’T TAKE NO CHANCES WITH NO DRUGGIE.”

“Well, you know: not to be pointing a finger, but you’ve eaten your weight in pills since we started our trip.”

“THASS MAH MEDICINE, BOY!”

“But you’ve been sharing it with me.”

“YOU LOOK SICK.”

“Dammit, man. All right, let’s just get him in the car.”

“WHY’D WE HAVE T’ GET ONE O’ TH’ FAT ITERATIONS, MAN?”

“Just help me.”

“AH SHALL HELP YOU. CHARLIE HODGE! HELP HAIRY GARCIA PUT WHATEVER TH’ HELL THIS THING IS IN TH’ STUTZ!”

“You make it difficult to be your friend.”

“WE AIN’T FRIENDS. WE BEST FRIENDS.”

“Great. Gimme the blow gun.”

“AH WILL GIVE IT T’ YOU BECAUSE AH WANT TO, NOT CUZ YOU SAID TO.”

“Whatever. And stop eating Jerry’s chicken!”

“IT JUS’ SMELLED SO DANG GOOD, MAN.”

“Am I too late?’

Post’s over, John.

“But, I had–”

Post’s over.

“HOW MANY TIMES AH GOTTA PASS ON THAT BOY?”

You heard Elvis. Post’s over.

“I hate all of you.”

Moloko Does A Body Korosho

Is that milk?

“Whole.”

Ugh.

“Creamy and viscous.”

I’m going to vomit.

“It’s got a thick swallow to it. Real thick swallow.”

“Didja puke, man?”

Retched. Why would you drink those secretions?

“Good for your bones, good for your eyes, and just plain yummy. Milk: ahhhh.”

You should do an ad.

“I’d pitch for milk, man. I don’t know if I’m quite the spokesperson they want, though, right? They got a wholesome, family deal going on.”

You’ve got a family.

“You know what I mean, man.”

When are you?

“’69, I think.”

Nice.

“Nice.”

HONЖ HONЖ

“Who the hell is that, man?”

“Is Uber.”

“I didn’t order an Uber, man.”

“You sure? Maybe you get high on pot, order Uber.”

“I’m positive I didn’t order an Uber. It’s 1969.”

“Okay. Uber, no Uber. Get in car, please.”

“What? Who the hell are you, man?”

“Jer, just get in the car!”

“Phil?”

“Phil from 2015.”

“I can’t see you.”

“I’m behind Putin, trust me. Just don’t worry about it and move on.”

“Uh-huh. And what’s going on?”

“The 1985 iteration of me stole a bunch of time machines.”

“Is that why there’s all the dinosaurs?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that figures.”

“So me and Putin her are chasing him through the omniverse trying to get all the devices-of-infinite-capability back before he sets time on fire.”

“Sure.”

“Wanna come with?”

“No.”

“Get in car, please. Is Lada. Is swanky.”

“Phil, who is this?”

“Remember Blofeld?”

“From the James Bond movies?”

“Yeah.”

“Him.”

“Oh. Yeah: pass.”

“C’mon, Jer. We never hang out any more.”

“We live in different centuries, Lesh. I have enough hassle from your contemporary iteration. I’m not fucking with multiples.”

“I’m buying ribs.”

“Nope.”

thwip

“Phil, your friend just shot me in the neck with a blowda–”

flump

“What the fuck!?”

“Jerry Grateful disrespect Lada. Very rude.”

“Is he dead, man!?”

“Tranquilizer. Is sleepy.”

“Well, let’s get him in the car.”

“In Lada.”

“In the Lada, whatever. Dunno why you’re so proud of this shitbox.”

“Is not shitbox. Powerful and sleek.”

“It’s not powerful at all. How many cylinders does it have?”

“Two-and-a-half.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Engine is five moped motor bolted together.”

“Why?”

“Because Russians were born to suffer.”

“Oh, whatever. Just help me with him, please.”

“In trunk.”

“No! You can’t put Jerry fucking Garcia in the trunk.”

“Nonsense. Can put anyone in trunk. Putin put many people in trunk.”

“The backseat, man.”

“Da, fine.”

“Sorry, Jer.”

“Whhhhhaaaa th’ fuh is–”

thwip

“STOP SHOOTING BLOWDARTS AT GARCIA!”

“Last one. Putin promise.”

“I’m beginning to think it was a mistake partnering up with you.”

“Nooooooo. You can trust Putin.”

“Uh-huh. Can I drive?”

“Nyet.”

Bearcat, Bear, Cat

“HOW YOU DOIN’ BACK THERE, HAIRY GARCIA?”

“This is, uh, real comfortable. Spacious. Man can really kick off his sandals in a backseat like this. Lotta bliss to be found.”

“YOU FIND ANY EXTRA, YOU SEND IT UP HERE.”

“Aye-aye. Elvis, what are these seats made of?”

“THAT THERE IS LEATHER FROM A TUFTED VARLET.”

“Huh. What, uh, what kind of animal is that?”

“AH HAVE NO IDEA, BUT ISS SO SOFT YOU COULD WIPE YER ASS WITH IT.”

“Oh, yeah. You shouldn’t though.”

“YOU WANNA WIPE YER ASS ON MAH CAR, HAIRY GARCIA, THEN YOU GO ‘HEAD. YOU MAH BEST FRIEND AN’ WE HAVIN’ ADVENTURES JUS’ LIKE HUCK AN’ JIM, MAN.”

“There are small differences, I guess.”

“MEBBE WE GONNA MEET A HOBO KING. WILL HE TEACH US HIS SECRETS? AH DO NOT KNOW, BUT AH AM EXCITED T’ FIND OUT.”

“Okee-doke. But, you know: first we gotta get all the time machines back.”

“YOU GOT A LINE ON YER BASS PLAYER?”

“Yeah, well, that’s a problem. Nobody’s seen him in a few days. Could be anywhere.”

“AH HOPE HE AIN’T IN TH’ YEAR 3411 GETTIN’ HISSELF A PAIR O’ QUANTUM NIPPLES.”

“Me, too.”

“MAN, ME AN’ YOU IS JUST SIMPATICO, HAIRY GARCIA.”

“Uh, y’know, Elvis…you can call me Bobby.”

“AH C’N CALL ANYBODY WHATEVER AH WANT T’ CALL ‘EM. AH CHOOSE T’ CALL YOU HAIRY GARCIA. YOU WANNA STOP AT STUCKEY’S?”

“I’m good.”

“YER LOSS, MAN. NOW TELL TH’ KING ABOUT THIS WAYWARD BASS PLAYER. YOU GOT A HUNCH WHERE HE AT? OR WHEN?”

“Here’s the thing about Phil that might work to our advantage: he’s kinda lazy. Most likely, he’s drunk in a bar in San Ysidro.”

“THEN AH SHALL POINT MAH GLAMOROUS AN’ POWERFUL CAR THATTAWAY. HOW YOU FIXED F’R SCARVES AN’ WATER?”

“More than enough of both.”

“YOU SURE? AH C’N STOP AN’ LET CHARLIE HODGE OUTTA TH’ TRUNK.”

“I’m good.”

“WE OUGHTTA GET OFF TH’ HIGHWAY AN’ GO T’ ONE O’ THOSE JOINTS THAT SELLS EV’RYTHING. YOU KNOW: WHERE TH’ POOR FOLKS EAT AT. THEY GOT CHICKEN AN’ SEAFOOD AN’ CHINESE FOOD AN’ MUFFINS AN’ PIZZA. THEN, Y’ MASH ALL THAT T’GETHER AN’ HAVE MISS MARY DEEP-FRY IT. AH CALL IT A BAD NEIGHBORHOOD SAN’WICH. ISS SO DELICIOUS Y’ GET A BONER EATIN’ IT.”

“Not hungry.”

“DO YOU HAVE LOVE IN YER LIFE, HAIRY GARCIA?”

“Sure, yeah. Quite a bit. Wife, kids, Jeff Chimenti.”

“AH HAVE LOST MAH PRISCILLA! MAH TEENAGED BRIDE DONE RUN OFF WITH TH’ KARATE INSTRUCTOR!”

“YOU HEAR ME?”

“Yeah, uh, sorry. Just kinda amazed by the fact that the sentence ‘My teenaged bride ran off with the karate instructor’ is completely factual and not exaggerated for comic effect.”

“DAMMIT, HAIRY GARCIA, AH AM TRYIN’ T’ BE REAL WITH YOU! STOP MAKIN’ ASIDES T’ THE AUDIENCE!”

“You’re right. Continue.”

“WHEN AH FIRST SAW MAH PRISCILLA, SHE WAS BUT A SLIP OF A GIRL. KEPT FALLIN’ OVER CUZ HER BEEHIVE HAIRDO WAS BIGGER THAN SHE WAS. MAH PRISCILLA WAS A DELICATE FLOWER THAT AH NEEDED TO PLUCK, AN’ ALSO MAKE MAH LOVE TO.”

“She was a looker.”

“SOME SAID IT WAS WRONG CUZ SHE WAS SO YOUNG. BUT AH COULD NOT RESIST HER CHARMS, MAN. SHE WAS A STONE-COLD TEEN FOX. YOU KNOW WHAT AH’M TALKIN’ ABOUT?”

“No.”

“YOU NEEDED T’ THINK ‘BOUT THAT?”

“Let’s just talk about you. Why’d she leave? Marriage going bad before that?”

“TH’ MARRIAGE WAS HEAVENLY, MAN. SHE PROVIDED ME WITH MAH PRECIOUS GIRL-CHILD, LISA MARIE.”

“Maybe you should’ve had another kid. I hear having another kid fixes problems.”

“YOU BITE YER TONGUE, HAIRY GARCIA! YOU BITE IT RIGHT OFF! IF AH WASN’T USIN’ MAH FEET AN’ HANDS F’R DRIVIN’, AH WOULD BE USIN’ ‘EM F’R KARATE!”

“What’d I say?”

“HOW COULD AH GIVE MAH GIFT T’ PRISCILLA AFTER SHE HAD TH’ BABY? THASS A RUINED COOTER, MAN! CAN’T DO NOTHIN’ WITH THAT KINDA COOTER! AH DON’T EVEN KNOW IF THAT FULLY QUALIFIES AS A COOTER ANY MORE!”

“Wow.”

“LISSEN UP: BABIES COME FROM GOD. WE KNOW THIS FROM OUR STUDIES. AH READ LOTSA BOOKS ‘BOUT THIS KINDA STUFF. BABIES COME FROM GOD. THAT MEANS WHEN A BABY COMES OUT YER COOTER, YER COOTER IS GOD. CAN’T BE STICKIN’ YER PECKER IN GOD, MAN.”

“I guess not.”

“NOT IN TH’ SOUTH, AT LEAST. DUNNO WHATCHOO WEIRDOS FROM CALIFORNIA GET UP TO.”

“We don’t stick our peckers in God, Elvis.”

“ALL RIGHT. THASS GOOD T’ HEAR. YOU WAN’ SOME SPAGHETTI?”

“Still not hungry.”

“AH GOT IT RIGHT HERE IN THE GLOVE COMPARTMENT. WOULDN’T EVEN NEED T’ STOP.”

“Nuh-uh.”

APPLE WATCH NOISE

“That’s me.”

“AH KNOW THASS YOU. KING WOULDN’T WEAR ONE O’ THEM SISSY STRAPS.”

“Sure.”

“Weir here.”

“Look up, Bobby Grateful.”

“Who is this?”

“Is Putin. I have plane now.”

“How’d you afford a plane? The Flaming Groovies never sold any records.”

“Put Elvis on phone.”

“You bet. Elvis, he wants to talk to you.”

“HEY, POOTER.”

“Is not name.”

“ME AN’ HAIRY GARCIA COMIN’ T’ KICK YER COMMIE ASS BACK T’ TH’ LIBRARY IN LONDON MARX  SCRIBBLED YER DOPEY SYSTEM IN.”

“Communism not dopey. Is for people.”

“NAH, MAN. ELVIS IS F’R TH’ PEOPLE. COMMUNISM’S F’R JOKERS AN’ WOOLY BOOGERS.”

“You are woofy booboo.”

“WOOLLY BOOGER.”

“Woodoo boogie.”

“WOOLY BOOGER.”

“Nyet. This cannot be said with Russian accent.”

“POINT: AMERICA.”

“I have many missile. Maybe I shoot ugly American car.”

“UGLY? MAN, THIS HERE’S A STUTZ BEARCAT. YOU THINK ISS UGLY, THEN YOU MUST BE LOOKIN’ AT YER FACE AN’ MISTAKIN’ IT F’R MAH FINE AUTOMOBILE.”

“Nice burn, Elvis.”

“THANK YOU, HAIRY GARCIA. THANK YOU VERY MUCH.”

“Is no burn.”

“Y’ BURNT, BOY! AH BURNT YA!”

“No burn.”

“MEBBE AH SEND DR. NICK OVER THERE T’ MINISTER T’ YER BURNS. HE COULD APPLY SOME SORTA MEDICATED POULTICE.”

“Propaganda. Burn is propaganda.”

“NOW PISS OFF, IVAN. ME AN’ MAH BEST FRIEND GOIN’ T’ FIND A DRUNKEN BASS PLAYER FROM 1985 WHO DONE FILCHED SOME TIME-ALTERIN’ DEVICES!”

“Da. This is what Putin is doing.”

“WHAT NOW?”

“Phil?”

“Hey, Bobby.”

“You joined the Flaming Groovies?”

“Listen: ’85 me is a drunken fool, and he can’t be trusted with one time machine, let alone several. Whatever item of clothing that jackass has turned into a chronofucker needs to be confiscated.”

“Yeah, no, I agree. That’s what me and Elvis are doing. Why didn’t you come with us?”

“It seems like Putin’s the only one around here who knows what he’s doing.”

“I actually can’t argue with that.”

“AH CAN! AH NOW DECLARE KARATE WAR ON ALL ITERATIONS OF YER BASS PLAYER!”

“Okay, have fun driving around with the lunatic. I’m going to take care of this.”

RUSSIAN DIAL TONE NOISE

“He sounds well.”

“HE GONNA SOUND BEATEN.”

“King?”

“BEST FRIEND?”

“Who’s in the passenger seat?”

“AH HAVE NO IDEA WHO THIS MAN IS.”

“Okay. That spaghetti offer still on the table?”

“AH KNEW YOU COULDN’T RESIST ISS SIREN SONG, MAN.”

Strike A Pose


“SENSEI BENJY! TALK T’ YER KING.”

“I’m here, King.”

AH C’N SEE AN’ HEAR YOU ON…WHATCHOO CALL THESE THINGS?”

“Google Glass. Elvis, things are very weird.”

“WHEN ARE YOU?”

“Whatever year Google Glass was a thing. I’m adrift in the timestream. Ten minutes ago, I was in 1322 in Massachusetts.”

“HOW’D THAT WORK OUT F’R YA?”

“I almost certainly set off a plague just with my very presence.”

“THEM INDIANS DID’N HAVE TH’ RIGHT ANTIBODIES, MAN.”

“Yeah, the ones who weren’t eaten by the pterodactyls are gonna die.”

“AW, NO. MORE DINOSAURS?”

“Permission to use foul language, King.”

“AH GRANT THIS.”

“They’re fuckin’ everywhere. I been to, like, nineteen different centuries in the past day. Every one of ’em has dinosaurs.”

“YEAH, SONNY AN’ RED BEEN SHOOTIN’ HIGH EXPLOSIVE AT THAT OL’ STEGOSAUR IN TH’ RACQUETBALL COURT FOR A WHILE NOW.”

“And that’s not the worst part. We’re starting to pull the future in towards us, and when the people from the future get here, they’re pissed.”

“WOULD’N YOU BE?”

“I’m not saying I blame ’em: just reporting.”

“YOU CONQUERED DEATH AT ALL?”

“I have been eaten by dinosaurs six times.”

“WHASS THAT LIKE?”

“It hurts.”

“UH-HUH. AH BEEN DOIN’ SOME FIGGERIN’. WHEN WE PUT THEM TWO DEVICES OF TIME-WARPIN’ POWER TOGETHER, SOMETHIN’ BAD HAPPENED.”

“You’re saying you wanna get a third time machine?”

“HOT DAMN, BOY, WE ARE SIMPATICO. YOU TOOK THE WORDS OUTTA MAH MOUTH. OBVIOUSLY, IT DID’N SOUND AS GOOD.”

“Can I Cadillac myself?”

“DO IT!”

“BAM! I just got Cadillac’d.”

“SENSEI BENJY, YER TEACHIN’ ME SO MUCH.”

“Yeah, I’m very wise. Can I get the performance package?”

“GET TWO OF ‘EM!”

“Nice.”

GOOGLE GLASS CALL WAITING NOISE

“TH’ DOOHICKEY IS FLASHIN’ AN’ BEEPIN’ AT ME!’

“I think you have another call.”

“HOL’, PLEASE.”

“NEW GOOGLE GLASS. WHO DIS?”

“Is Putin.”

“WHAT AH TELL YOU, BOY? KEEP THAT COMMIE HEAD DOWN IN YER COMMIE HOLE, OR AH’M GONNA WHOMPINATE YA.”

“You vill not vompinate anyone.”

“GONNA TEAR YA INTA LI’L STRIPS, AN’ SPRINKLE YA OVER A SALAD, AN’ THEN NOT EAT YOU.”

“You are salad. Putin tired of playing. Ve fight.”

“YOU JUS’ ENTERED A WORLD MADE OUTTA PAIN AND MAH KNUCKLES, BOY! HOW DARE YOU DON KARATE CLOTHES AT ME?”

“Is Judo.”

“JUDO IS A CHINESE WORD THAT MEANS ‘BAD KARATE.'”

“This is not correct.”

“100%.”

“0%.”

“TH’ WHOLE WIDE WORLD IS NOW MAH DOJO, AND AH SHALL NOT REST ‘TIL AH DOMINATE YOU. WATCH THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE, COMMIE.”

“THASS A KARATE POSE, BOY. NOT THAT SISSY SHIT YOU DOIN’.”

“Is not sissy. Is for men.”

“TOSSIN’ ‘EM? FLIPPIN’ EM? HELL, NO. MEN PUNCH LIKE SHARKS, AN’ KICK LIKE RACIST KANGAROOS, AN’ THEY MAKE COOL NOISES WHEN THEY DO IT. HI-YAH, THAT SORTA THING. DUNNO WHATCHOO DOIN’.”

“Judo best. Karate no good.”

“SEE HOW NO GOOD IT IS WHEN AH SHOVE MAH FIST THROUGH YOUR WHOLE CHEST, AN’ THEN SHUT OFF TH’ LIGHTS O’ TH’ DOJO TO SYMBOLIZE YER DEFEAT.”

“This is not a possible thing.”

“PROBABLE.”

“Maybe, Elvis America. Maybe you beat Putin. If you do, then you get glorious Russian Time Lada.”

“WAIT, MAN. YOU GOT A TIME MACHINE?”

“Is yours, is Grateful Dead, and mine. Only three on planet. You want solve your problem, you need me. Putin wins.”

“YOU DO NOT WIN AT ALL, BOY! AH AM GONNA DEFEAT YOU USING MAH PROWESS.”

“Ve vill see.”

“WHY CAN’T YOU SAY ‘W,’ GODAMMIT?”

“Is accent.”

“It’s a stupid accent!”

“Who is this speaking?”

“BENJY? THAT YOU, BOY?”

“Yeah. You didn’t put me on hold. You hit the three-way call button. Anyway, I have got a real bone to pick with you, Putin. How dare you shoot me with a poison-tipped blowda–”

THWIP

“Motherfucker.”

shlump

“YOU KNOW THAT THERE BOY’S IMMORTAL, RIGHT?”

“Da. Just wanted him to shut up.”

“UNNERSTANDABLE.”

“We fight to see if world ends?”

“WHY NOT, MAN?”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH GOOGLE GLASS CERTAINLY DOESN’T DO THAT

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