Thoughts On The Dead

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

Interlude: Concert Hall, Backstage

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“Good evening, my name is D’Brickashaw Feldman and I’ll be your orthodontist today. If you could just remove your trousers. Slower. Thaaaaat’s it. Would you like a sedative? I’m going to have one.

“You are a roly-poly one, aren’t you? You wiggle so much: it’s like looking down the highway on a hot day. Everything’s wavy. I’m going to grab at you.

“But there’s something in the other room–right in the other room–that I must attend to for, say, 45 seconds or so. Shouldn’t take long. WON’T take long, let’s be cards on the table. If you were a card on the table, you would be a queen. And we’d be two of a kind. Then I’d blackjack you, which is this thing Billy taught that’s unbelievably racist even for the 70’s, which are now.

“OKAY, just a sec…”

Bobby disappears behind the door.

The sound of nostrils being used for purposes that void the warranty can be heard.

“Hey, I’m back, what’d I miss, who are you, what did I say my name was, whose sport coat is this, did I sign anything, go Niners!”

1 Comment

  1. I’ll have what Bobert is having!

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