Oh, there you are. Where’d you go? I was worried about you. How’d the fight go?
“Between the multicorn and the Freddies Mercury?”
Isn’t it weird that that sentence makes sense?
“A little, yeah. But, uh, it was only a fight for a little bit.”
Hey, that’s great. You got laid in Vegas.
“I always get laid in Vegas. Never like that.”
“The Freddies share a hivemind.”
“And a hiveboner.”
I did not assume that. I don’t even think I understand that.
“It’s complicated. And veiny.”
Freddie didn’t seem like a manscaper.
“I lost my watch in his bush.”
So you’re saying that your first Phish Halloween show was not a great experience.
“Some good stuff happened.”
“I’m joining Queen.”
They have a guitarist, and he’s better than you.
Sorry, but true.
“I know, but it still hurts. Anyway, I’m not going to be the guitarist. I want to be a frontman like Freddie.”
You can’t be.
Queen songs don’t sound good sung in an American accent.
Or through your nose.
“You’re a dick.”
You’re already in nine bands and you have so much laundry to do.
“You have to stay on top of it.”
Stop joining bands. Just be rich and bang pop stars and wear clothes. You’re a Grateful Dead now, John Mayer, because 2016 is trying to kill us all, so just be happy with what you have.
“But he wants it all, darling!”
“And he wants it NOOOOOOWWW!”
Oh, those pipes.
“Thank you, darling. I’m often complimented on my plumbing.”
“Freddie, I…where are the others?”
“Rampaging through the crowd like sexual wolverines.”
“Of course. Listen, Freddie: I don’t think this is going to work out. We’re just in different places in life. And I’m not gay. And you died 25 years ago. That last one probably should’ve gone first.”
“Forbidden love! Wonderful, darling. I’ll be Romeo, and you be Mercutio.”
“You mean Juliet.”
“Shakespeare cut out a whole sub-plot. It was a plot about how Mercutio was the sub: sub-plot.”
“Darling, do you like comic books?”
“I guess. Why?”
“Because I’m going to show you my thing, and then it’s rogering time!”
Can I watch?