Thoughts On The Dead

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

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Barry, Crown

“Psst. Hanks.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Queen’s hammered.”

“You don’t mean ‘blitzed?'”

“Nice one.”

“Thank you, sir. You sure? She seems okay.”

“Positive. No one, uhhhh, holds their liquor like royalty. Watch this. Your Majesty, how are you?”

“I own India.”

“See? Out of it.”

“Wow.”

“You got no idea how much these people drink.”

“Well, you know, sir: they don’t have jobs.”

“Oh, no. They have a ton of responsibilities. There’s, uhhh, the waving.”

“She accepts a lot of flowers.”

“Right. That’s a tough gig, man. Sometimes, there’s thorns.”

“Boy, howdy. Can’t have the Queen prick her finger.”

“No. That’s how fairy tales start.”

“Every time. Whose job is better, sir, yours or hers?”

“You kidding? Hers. Not even a close call. You know what she does in the morning?”

“Cross-Fit?”

“The woman gets up at nine, takes an hour-long bath, and then looks at her messages until lunch. Meanwhile, I gotta talk to Rahm Emmanuel before the sun comes up. If you’re given the choice between being President and being Queen, choose ‘Queen.'”

“Toddies! Toddies or off with all your heads!”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Steward? Steward?”

“Yes, Mr. President?”

“Bring the table a round of toddies.”

“What?”

“Just heat up some booze and put it in a glass mug.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Toddies are coming, Your Majesty.”

“We must crush the Irish.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Psst, Mr. President.”

“Yeah, Tom?”

“If you can slip out for five minutes, I brought you a present.”

“Can you smoke it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m not asking any more questions. Let’s go, Forrest.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Gotcha. Hey, Tom. Let’s, uhhh, not sexually harass anyone on the way out.”

“Oh, no. That would break everyone’s hearts.”

Francois’ Tower

Ah, gay Paree.

“I dunno about the gay part, but it’s definitely Paris, man.”

Tower gives it away.

“Yeah. It’ll be nice when they finish it.”

What now?

“Shh. We’re trying to convince Bobby that it’s half-built.”

It does look a bit naked.

“Well, yeah, man. It’s French.”

Speaking of which, how you guys doing with the ladies over there?

“Ah, man. You thought hippie chicks were hairy? Come to Europe. Billy gave up and started developing a relationship with his bidet.”

Clean, but sensual.

“You said it.”

Banjoteil

What in God’s name is that?

“Bassjo.”

Why?

“Mash-up, baby. I love mixing instruments up. Ever seen my fluba?”

Fluba?

“Flute/tuba.”

Ew.

“I also got a pianoboe.”

Piano/oboe?

“You’re catching on quick.”

I do that.

“And a Jew’s harpsichord.”

Is that a Jew’s harp mixed with a harpsichord?

“No, it’s just a harpsichord. But I bought it from a guy named Murray.”

If I give you money, will you buy a pair of grown-up shoes?

“Absolutely not.”

Just checking.

Why, Yes, I Would Like To Funk

Sylvester: teaching all the Funkateers about consent.

 

We’re Guilty Of The Same Old Thing

You may be Saturday’s child all-grown
Moving with a tinge of grace
You may be a clown in the burying ground
Or just another pretty face

P.S. I know this woman. We were friends a lifetime or two ago. She never struck me as a fibber.

A Land Of Plenty

Good for you, Australia. Love is love; may it not fade away.

Overheard At The Hospital

  • Mickey, put the nurses’ scrubs back.
  • Has anyone seen the pharmacy?
  • No, Bear, please don’t rewire the public address system aaaaaaaand you fried the entire building; thanks for that, genius.
  • Who put tequila in all these IV bags?
  • Well, look around for it; it’s gotta be here; livers don’t just walk away.
  • Nurse, a shoeless black guy and a white guy with hair like a unicorn just stole my food.
  • No, not the contents of the pharmacy; the pharmacy.
  • Paging Dr. Beechwood.
  • Paging Dr. Schott.
  • It’s a lovely house, Bobby, but we need those tongue depressors for the patients.
  • You dosed the otolaryngologist? I dosed the otolaryngologist. Jesus, how many people dosed the otolaryngologist? We should check on him.
  • The opening to the gown is supposed to be in the back, Billy.
  • Yes, it’s a problem that everyone can see your dick.
  • No, we’re not “all professionals here,” Billy: we’re in the cafeteria.
  • Security to the parking lot: two ambulances have been stolen and are being repeatedly crashed into one another; approach with caution, as suspects are armed and married.
  • The whole pharmacy is gone, all of it, it is not there anymore, I don’t know how much more clearly I can put this.
  • If you don’t lock the morgue up, the road crew are just gonna steal more parts.
  • HOLY SHIT, are you smoking in the fucking burn ward?

Bandmates, Identical Bandmates

Holy shit.

“What?”

You’re starting to look like him.

“Xavier Cugat?”

Garcia.

“Alfredo Garcia?”

Jerry. Your friend and bandmate.

“Ah. Y’think?”

Little bit. Of course, it took you til 70 to look like he did at 40.

“That’s clean living for ya.”

You said it. How’s John?

“Who?”

Josh.

“Better. Getting his strength back. This afternoon, he was able to solo briefly.”

Good to hear. You yoinking his pain pills?

“Absolutely not.”

Is he sharing them?

“Yup.”

Gotcha.

Hospital, Johnny

Hey, Slugger.

“Oh, not you. Not today.”

I’m just here to check up on my guy. Nothing but positive vibes and cheerful words.

“Uh-huh. Are my disembodied appendix and Miles Davis coming to kill me?”

Not until you get better.

“Promise?’

I swear. And no one’s gonna call you and start talking foolishness at you, and Katy Perry isn’t going to launch cruise missiles at your house, and you’re gonna be left to recuperate in peace. Even the semi-fictional version of you has earned some bed rest.

“Thank you.”

Did they give you ice cream?

“That’s when you get your tonsils out.”

The tonsils and the appendix are very similar organs.

“They’re not.”

So, what happened? Give TotD the exclusive story so I can sell it to Relix and make a fortune.

“You know you’re not actually talking to me, right?”

Shut up and tell me what happened.

“I was in my hotel room in New Orleans. Wasn’t gonna go out, so I had so many options. Should I solo? Buy stuff online? Laundry? The night lay before me like a highway.”

Uh-huh.

“And then imagine a fat guy.”

Okay.

“A fat guy made of knives with barbed wire for hair.”

Pubes, too?

“Yes.”

Gotcha.

“And now imagine that fat guy made of knives and barbed wire is dancing in your abdomen.”

What kind of dancing?

“Crumping.”

Oh, that sounds terrible.

“It wasn’t good. I was, like, doing this cry/yell thing for a couple minutes and Bobby heard and came in the room.”

How did Bobby get in your room?

“We always have adjoining suites and leave the door unlocked in case there’s thunder.”

Makes sense.

“Dude, Bobby was awesome. That wonderful man literally picked me up and carried me down to the lobby.”

He did?

“He fucking did, man. Course, he threw his back out and now he’s in the next room.”

“Is that jackass bothering you while you’re in the hospital, Josh!?”

“Don’t worry about it, Bobby!”

I know when I’m not wanted.

“You don’t. But whatever, there’s one more thing you have to do.”

What?

“Get Billy and Mickey out of here.”

They visited you at the hospital? That’s sweet.

“They stole half the pharmacy and crashed an ambulance into the gerontology department.”

What floor is that on?

“Fifth.”

I’ll see what I can do. Go lay down, buddy.

“Okay. No bullshit for a while, promise me.”

I promise. But you gotta promise me one thing.

“You must be joking. What?”

Think about keeping the mustache.

“You like it?”

It’s awesome. Just shave the shit off your chin. Give the ‘stache pride of place.

“I’ll think about it. Fuck off.”

Okay.

Upcoming Newspaper Headlines About Australia’s Marriage Equality Vote

  • Cockodile Yummy!

Wait, what?

  • Throw Another Twink On The Barbie!

Inappropriate.

  • Vagemite!

Jesus, no. What are you doing?

  • Upside-Down Homosexuals!

I demand you stop this right now.

  • Gay Marriage: What Does The Sax Player From INXS Think?

Who cares? End this bit; it’s offensive.

To who? Australians? Homosexuals?

Talented comedy writers.

Ow.

You deserved it.

I know. Still hurts.

Good.

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