Thoughts On The Dead

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

Moloko Does A Body Korosho

Is that milk?

“Whole.”

Ugh.

“Creamy and viscous.”

I’m going to vomit.

“It’s got a thick swallow to it. Real thick swallow.”

“Didja puke, man?”

Retched. Why would you drink those secretions?

“Good for your bones, good for your eyes, and just plain yummy. Milk: ahhhh.”

You should do an ad.

“I’d pitch for milk, man. I don’t know if I’m quite the spokesperson they want, though, right? They got a wholesome, family deal going on.”

You’ve got a family.

“You know what I mean, man.”

When are you?

“’69, I think.”

Nice.

“Nice.”

HONЖ HONЖ

“Who the hell is that, man?”

“Is Uber.”

“I didn’t order an Uber, man.”

“You sure? Maybe you get high on pot, order Uber.”

“I’m positive I didn’t order an Uber. It’s 1969.”

“Okay. Uber, no Uber. Get in car, please.”

“What? Who the hell are you, man?”

“Jer, just get in the car!”

“Phil?”

“Phil from 2015.”

“I can’t see you.”

“I’m behind Putin, trust me. Just don’t worry about it and move on.”

“Uh-huh. And what’s going on?”

“The 1985 iteration of me stole a bunch of time machines.”

“Is that why there’s all the dinosaurs?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that figures.”

“So me and Putin her are chasing him through the omniverse trying to get all the devices-of-infinite-capability back before he sets time on fire.”

“Sure.”

“Wanna come with?”

“No.”

“Get in car, please. Is Lada. Is swanky.”

“Phil, who is this?”

“Remember Blofeld?”

“From the James Bond movies?”

“Yeah.”

“Him.”

“Oh. Yeah: pass.”

“C’mon, Jer. We never hang out any more.”

“We live in different centuries, Lesh. I have enough hassle from your contemporary iteration. I’m not fucking with multiples.”

“I’m buying ribs.”

“Nope.”

thwip

“Phil, your friend just shot me in the neck with a blowda–”

flump

“What the fuck!?”

“Jerry Grateful disrespect Lada. Very rude.”

“Is he dead, man!?”

“Tranquilizer. Is sleepy.”

“Well, let’s get him in the car.”

“In Lada.”

“In the Lada, whatever. Dunno why you’re so proud of this shitbox.”

“Is not shitbox. Powerful and sleek.”

“It’s not powerful at all. How many cylinders does it have?”

“Two-and-a-half.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Engine is five moped motor bolted together.”

“Why?”

“Because Russians were born to suffer.”

“Oh, whatever. Just help me with him, please.”

“In trunk.”

“No! You can’t put Jerry fucking Garcia in the trunk.”

“Nonsense. Can put anyone in trunk. Putin put many people in trunk.”

“The backseat, man.”

“Da, fine.”

“Sorry, Jer.”

“Whhhhhaaaa th’ fuh is–”

thwip

“STOP SHOOTING BLOWDARTS AT GARCIA!”

“Last one. Putin promise.”

“I’m beginning to think it was a mistake partnering up with you.”

“Nooooooo. You can trust Putin.”

“Uh-huh. Can I drive?”

“Nyet.”

3 Comments

  1. Robert Hernandez

    March 5, 2017 at 2:14 am

    I’m seeing oj. He did drink a lot of it back then.
    That’s my story & I’m sticking to it.

  2. Tuesday Jackson

    March 5, 2017 at 10:45 am

    We need Pigpen T shirts.

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