Thoughts On The Dead

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

Miles In The Sky With Diamonds

“What’s that boy’s name who doesn’t know how to play drums? He was in your band.”


“That’s it. Lemme ask you: he simple?”

“I don’t understand.”

“A retard. Ringo a retard? No one who ain’t retarded could play drums that bad.”

“Ringo wasn’t retarded. I don’t think.”

“Trust me. Retard. Gotta have a smart drummer. Tony Williams could hold down a groove while filling out the Times crossword puzzle. And not that easy-ass Monday shit, neither. He’d do Thursday in pen. Never drop a beat. He was like you. Dug Chinese bitches.”

“Yoko is Japanese, Miles.”

“Japanese people are just Island Chinamen. Not sneaky. The white propaganda during the war said they was sneaky, but this isn’t true. Straightforward motherfuckers, just weird. Chinese bitches got different kind of pussies than white bitches or black bitches. This is true. You know this. Chinese bitches got double-jointed pussies. Used to have one could open up a Heineken bottle. Then she’d drink the whole thing. All with her pussy. Amazing pussy.”

“It’s something else.”

“Got me to wondering. Maybe it’s all the Chinese. Not just bitches. Maybe the men had magic dicks or some shit. I had to know, but I ain’t no sissy.”

“What did you do, Miles?”

“I made Chick Corea fuck a whole bunch of Chinamen. He wasn’t queer or nothing, but it’s my fucking band so he did it.”


“And what, motherfucker?”

“Do they have magic dicks?”

“Chick didn’t think so. I think that experience was what led him to that Scientology bullshit he does.”

“Yoko knows some Scientologists. Don’t you, Yoko?”

“My dear friends the Cannonbaums are–”


“What the fuck, Miles? Why’d you hit Yoko?”

“I felt she was disrespecting me.”

“Don’t beat up my wife. That’s my job, okay? I beat up my wives; you beat up your wives.”

“I don’t beat them up. I beat them, but I don’t beat them up.”

“I’m not seeing the distinction.”

“It’s subtle, motherfucker.”

“Miles, I forgive you for striking–”


“You’re doing it all wrong. That was sad. Power comes from your hips. You just swinging your arm like a fairy. Gotta get your torque going.”

“I think I know how to hit my wife, Miles.”

“Boy, I was slapping wives before you were born. Don’t give me your bullshit.”

“Could both of you please stop hitting–”


“See the hips? Were you watching?”

“I’ll try it. I’ll try it once, but I like my way.”

“One of my teeth is loose. You hit me really–”



“That felt good, actually.”

“There are numerous bystanders. I don’t know why no one’s calling the po–”


“What was that one for, Miles?”

“Bitch was gonna snitch.”

OKAY. That’s enough. No more of whatever this is. Everyone stop beating his wife.

“I’m not beating my wife. I’m beating his wife, motherfucker.”

We’re done. I wish this hadn’t happened.


  1. Yoko would straight up hit them both with a FLUXUSSLAP and an intermediary time-based conceptual performance would result with wah-wah trumpet, double tracked vocals + slapback reverb, and Teo shaking his head over how to splice-edit the thing into a 12 minute cut Stan Getz will hate.

  2. Luther Von Baconson

    September 27, 2017 at 11:22 am

    “you must’ve learn somethin’ in all those years”

    obviously not shooting baskets Winston O.

    • Thoughts On The Dead

      September 27, 2017 at 11:07 pm

      Holy shit, it’s the two-handed set shot. Haven’t seen one of those in three decades.

      • Also, although it doesn’t strike us as very anomalous right now, that’s an ABA red-white-and-blue basketball. It was an innovation at the time.

  3. Miles is out of control! He needs some tough love. MILES SLAP!

  4. Never seen a 20-inch waist on a grown man before.

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