Thoughts On The Dead

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

Just Another Night In Las Vegas

hillary-britney

“Are you mah mother?”

“No, Britney. I’m Hillary Clinton. I’m running for president.”

“Of?”

“America.”

“This one?”

“As opposed to?”

“South.”

“They got you on a lot of meds, huh?”

“Ah take several vitamin pills for mah constitution.”

“Great. Listen, Brit: teleprompter is loaded, so just read the speech.”

“When does the pyro go off?”

“Maybe the day after the election, if we’re unlucky.”

“What?”

“Nothing. No pyro.”

“Backup dancers?”

“None.”

“Where’s the snake?”

“Bill’s in Florida.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Britney, this is just a speech. Read the teleprompter…and…oh.”

“Honey?”

“Momma?”

“Did they teach you to read in the Mickey Mouse Club?”

“We got up to the letter H. Then the show got cancelled.”

“Sure. Here’s what we’re gonna do: I”ll feed you the lines so you can record a backing track, then when we get on stage, I’m gonna jam a wad of peanut butter in your mouth as it plays. No one will know.”

“That’s how we did mah first few videos.”

“Great. Huma just got off the phone with her divorce attorney. I’ll have her run to the store before her next crying jag. Men, Britney. Men. Nothing but trouble. Sticking their dicks everywhere they’ll fit. Ever see a raccon feel around? They’ve got a ton of nerve endings in their hands, so feeling is how they see the world. With men, it’s their dicks. Everything they see, they slap their dicks right on it just to see what they can get away with. And you know where they end up? After they’ve piled mountains of shit on your doorstep? Riding horses! Riding fucking horses at a 40-grand-a-month sex farm!”

“Would you like one of my vitamins?”

“I would, yeah. Two, if it would be cool.”

“Oh, just hold out your hands.”

“You’re a sweet kid, Britney.”

“Ah have met an awful man or two, Momma.”

“Not your mother.”

“Married several, gave power of attorney to others, married several others.”

“Well, what you have to remember is–”

A BALALAIKA RINGING OUT

“You have to be fucking kidding me. Britney, go to your room.”

“But ah–”

“Now!”

“What are you doing here?”

hillary-putin

“I must break you.”

“You’ve been trying, bitch. Where’s it getting you?”

“I do not know vat you are talking about.”

“Oh, cut the shit, borschtdick. Everyone knows what you’re doing. The whole internet smells like vodka.”

“Nooo. Maybe is virus.”

“You’re the virus. And I’m the antibiotic.”

“Ha! Antibiotic no kill virus.”

“I know that, but it’s not actually a virus. You’re bacteria.”

“No bacteria.”

“You tried your best, Vlad.”

“No bacteria. You’re the bacteria.”

“But I’m going to remember this. And I am going to get you, motherfucker. You came at the queen and you missed, and now that shit-stained Santa’s village you call a country is going to pay for it. Great Game on.”

“Game on.”

“Can you get me tickets for Elton John?”

“Is he in town?”

“Da.”

“Sure. How many?”

“Ten.”

“Ten? Get the fuck out of here, ten. Four.”

“Eight, luxury suite.”

“Six down front.”

“Da.”

2 Comments

  1. –Hand Clapping–

  2. Mean, Green, Devil Eating Machine

    November 7, 2016 at 9:32 am

    That endearing deer in the headlights look.

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