Thoughts On The Dead

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

For Mayer Or For Poorer

They spelled your name wrong, Josh.

“This is going to come as a shock to you, but I’m a highly respected artist.”

You paint?

“Not that kind of artist.”

What is this for?

“Awesomeness.”

Uh-huh.

“And record sales. I move product like Escobar.”

You do sell a lot of units. I don’t see the last album on there.

“Excuse me?”

The Search for Everything. Didn’t go Gold?

“It did.”

Oh.

“In Canada.”

Does your girlfriend live in Canada, too, Josh?

“Y’know, your shitty little attitude and hateful disposition can’t bother me today. I’m happy. I’ve got, like, nine bands; millions of dollars worth of probably-not-counterfeit watches; my tattoos are so sexy; and I’m happily married. I’m objectively winning at life.”

How is Miles?

“I am so in love. Bought him a present.”

Oh, God. Lemme guess.

“Look at this fucking toppermost my bitch bought me.”

I was right.

“I’m clean as a motherfucker. Bitch got a good eye.”

That is a hell of a toppermost, Mr. Davis.

“Best wife I ever had. Shops more than Cicely did, but he pays for his own shit. Brings me presents. Washes all my shit real good. Gets all freaky on my armpits.”

You’re into that?

“I wasn’t, but now I am.”

Sure.

“He’s a good wife. Strong on the inside. Very spiritual. And powerful legs. Boy can take a pounding. I like that. I got a hard stroke. I stroke long, I stroke hard.”

Sounds like you got something good going.

“Love that motherfucker. Traded some of his watches for coke.”

“What now?”

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m fucking talking.”

“But you said–”

JAZZ BACKHAND

“Which watches did you–”

JAZZ FOREHAND

“Did you at least save any coke for–”

JAZZ BACKHAND

“Stop slapping me!”

“Okay.”

JAZZ CHAIR-ACROSS-THE-BACK

“That better?

Could you stop beating him, please!?

“When he acts right.”

Mr. Davis, may I speak to your wife, John Mayer?

“Quickly.”

Josh? Buddy?

“Daddy was right. I shouldn’t talk back like that.”

Josh, I need you to know how serious I am, so I’m going to call you John.

“Wow.”

Yeah. Johnny?

“Just John.”

He’s going to kill you.

“He’s not. He loves me.”

He may very well love you. Most people get killed by people who love them.

“You’re just speculating.”

I’m not. I write this bullshit. I decided he was going to shoot you a couple days ago.

“It is the logical dramatic progression.”

I go where the muse takes me.

“I really think I’ll be fine.”

I promise you that you are not.

“Bitch! Get over here and grease up.”

“I gotta go.”

I warned you.

2 Comments

  1. Happy Thanksgiving, TotD. I am grateful to you and the comments section for being amusing and entertaining and obsessive.

  2. WHAT THE FUCK IS HE WEARING????

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