Thoughts On The Dead

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

One If By Land, Two If By Seastones

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you remember laughter?”

“Of course, sir.”

“What about Vera Lynn?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Rock and roll radio?”

“Also a yes, sir.”

“Well, then, classic rock has no more unanswered questions. We’re heroes, Jenkins.”

“We could be.”

“Have I been accused of sexual harassment yet?”

CHECKING TWITTER NOISE

“Not yet, sir.”

“Dammit, I’m tired of waiting. Get over here.”

“No, sir.”

“Watch me make love to myself.”

“No, sir.”

UNZIPPING NOISE

“Look at it!”

“I will not, sir.”

“No, there’s this growth I want you to see.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You should see a doctor, sir.”

“I did! He got mad at me for showing it to him!”

“Was it the–”

“It was the dentist, yes.”

“–dentist again? Oh, sir. I keep telling you: they’re just for teeth.”

“Then they shouldn’t be called doctor, dammit! If you want to be called doctor, then you need to be available to look at my penis. Those are the rules, Jenkins.”

“Can we discuss the poster, sir?”

“Poster!”

“Yes, sir. This show is in Boston.”

“Foul burg. A dinky little place, Jenkins. And stinky. Boston dinks and stinks. And they’re pompous. ‘Legal Seafood.’ Seafood’s legal everywhere. They’re not special.”

“The town does have a high estimation of itself.”

“Have you heard what they do to the English language? The only thing Bostonians hate more than the letter R is the thought of negros learning math next to their Kevins and Margarets.”

“They did not take to busing, sir.”

“Do you know a Bostonian engaged in sexy talk would be speaking erotically and a-rhotically?”

“Well done, sir.”

“Shouldn’t mix Irishmen and college students, Jenkins. Or Irishmen and Italians. Or Irishmen and anyone. I guess that’s why God put them on an island.”

“The poster, sir.”

“Poster! Let’s do something different this time, Jenkins.”

“Create something beautiful?”

“No, steal all the petty cash and head to Mexico.”

“The petty cash won’t last that long, sir.”

“It will. I have a plan. We’re going to convert it into Zimdollars first. There’s like 600 bucks in petty cash, so that means we’ll have…”

“14 quintillion Zim.”

“We’ll be kings, Jenkins. No. I’ll be a king, Jenkins. And you’ll be my Jenkins. Imagine that. Being a king’s Jenkins. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Sir, you’re not quite grasping how currency exchange works.”

“And then we’ll trade in that massive amount of money for pesos and Mexico will open herself up to us. Like a slutty clam.”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“I’m going to be a gentleman farmer. Grow refried beans. In the evenings, I will stroll through the plaza with Conchita and our young son Machismo.”

“You already have a family, sir.”

“They suck.”

“Poster.”

“Poster! Let’s talk color. I’m thinking ‘If autumn could take a shit.'”

“Yes, sir. And the image?”

“Who’s that guy who got shot? Crispy Hatrack?”

“Crispus Attucks, sir.”

“He was no saint, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Him and Ted Williams doing it.”

“No, sir.”

“Doing it hard. Teddy Ballgame is calling his shots.”

“Absolutely not, sir.”

“Homophobe.”

“No, sir. It is not homophobic to refrain from portraying Crispus Attucks and Ted Williams having sex on a Dead & Company poster.”

“You’re worse than Hitler, Hitler.”

“Stop that.”

“Fine. No humping. How about Mayor Menino’s speech impediment?”

“How do you draw that?”

“I don’t know. That’s why we hire an artist, Jenkins.”

“No, sir.”

“Jenkins?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call down to the front desk and ask them to look in the Lost & Found.”

“For what, sir?”

“My will to live. Fuck it. Do Paul Revere, but–”

“He’s a bear.”

“–he’s a bear, and then sprinkle–”

“Dead bullshit all over it.”

“–Dead bullshit all over it.”

“Yes, sir. On it.”

“Anything about the harassment?”

TWITTER CHECKING NOISE

“Still no, sir.”

“The waiting is killing me.”

1 Comment

  1. I get the feeling that A.J Masthay must have kids, about 8 or 9, and his wife and/or his conscious say…

    “A.J don’t put any scary psychedelic shit in the posters, we have children now”

    Either that or regular urine testing keeps his creativity at a low low level.

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