“Oh, hey! Thoughts on Asses!”
“Did you hear about Dead 3.0?”
Please don’t call it that.
“Playing the Garden again! Big time, baby.”
It is pretty neat. How long is Drums gonna be?
“Drums has already started.”
“Began fucking around with the thumb-piano and strapping foghorns to my crotch three days ago.”
“If an election can last fifteen months, then why can’t Drums last eleven weeks?”
That’s a terrible argument, Mick.
“yes, but who’s the one with the giant sound system?”
“So, I win the argument, don’t I?”
I suppose so, yeah. Anyway: what’s in store for Halloween.
“You mean Hartoween?”
Sweet Jesus, I do fucking not.
“We’re gonna have ourselves a little EDM.”
“ELECTRONIC DEAD MUSIC!”
–Dead Music? Great.
“We’re gonna have loops and samples and I’m gonna AutoTune my ProTools, and there’s gonna be batter’s gloves for everyone and it’s gonna last forever.”
How is this different than Santa Clara or Chicago? There’s literally no more drums for you to bring. You brought all the drums in the entire world to the Farewell Shoes.
“We’re going in a different direction. Doing some Deep House. Than a little Drums-and-Bass.”
“Sure. We’re even going to have some drops.”
You’re going to drop the beat?
“Oh, no: I meant that Bobby might collapse.”
Okay. Here’s why I’m not making fun of you: the three Drums from Chicago were some heavy-duty fun.
“Right? Crowd’s high, band’s loud: that’s the shit right there.”
Yeah, little bit.
“I invited my friend Skrillex to sit-in.”
Billy will set him on fire for that haircut.
“Oh. Yeah, probably.”