Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: harvey weinstein (page 2 of 2)

The Devastation Of Harvey

Hey, Amir. How you doing, buddy?

“Fine. I’m fine. Let’s talk later.”

You sure?

“Everything’s fine. Don’t worry. All good.”

Where’s Harvey’s other hand?

“Don’t worry about it.”

Is it on your shmeckel?

“I said not to worry about it.”

Did he quote Jay-Z at you?

“No, DMX.”

Harvey Weinstein quoted DMX at you?

“He was barking and crying; I assumed it was DMX.”


“Dude, I’m fine.”

Blink twice if you’re not.

“It’s a photograph. This isn’t Harry Potter. Pictures don’t move.”

They don’t carry on conversations with shut-ins, either. Blink twice if you need help.



I knew it. I’m sending help.

“Please don’t send help.”


“Oh, God, don’t send him.”

“I think I’d rather have the other Josh.”

“Amir? Buddy? Tell me, Hollywood scion Josh Brolin, and whoever this tall guy is what Harvey did to you.”

“He didn’t do anything to me.”

“On you? Did he do stuff on you?”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“Amir, you’re with friends.”

“I don’t know who the tall guy is.”

“Me, either, but look at that fucking adam’s apple. Fucker looks like a half-opened Pez dispenser.”

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Amir, dude: I am totally on your side since this morning. Last week? You would have had to take one for the team. But now, you know, situation’s changed a bit. Or maybe it hasn’t. I mean, Woody Allen’s got a new movie coming out soon, so who knows how this whole thing will end up.”

“You’re not helping, Josh.”

“Should I find a doll? You could point on the doll where he touched you.”

“No doll.”

“What about some appetizers?”

“Oh, that would be great.”

“I’ll find a waiter. You hang out with the tall guy.”

“But I–”

“So. Uh. You’re pretty lofty.”

“Wanna watch me shower?”


The Faster Weir Goes, The Rander Weir Gets

“Look what I got.”


“The randiest. Although, this guy to my left keeps telling me go home and get my shinebox.”

Yeah, don’t murder him. It comes back to bite you in the ass.

“I’ll try. But, you know, if he keeps disrespecting me my hand will be forced.”

Don’t do it.


Hey, Bobby.


Don’t make it obvious, but check out the piece on the guy to your far right.



“Garcia’s was better.”


“Jer wear a toupee. From about 1972 onward. Went to the same guy as Gene Simmons.”

This is not a fact.

“Oh, yeah. Real human hair, too. Parish used to get it for him. Sometimes, there’d be chunks of scalp still attached.”

“We doing group randos now? You got nothing, Weir.”

Not randos, Phil. That’s your band.

“This can’t be my band. Where are my children? I made my band with my own balls.”

Ew. And it is definitely your band. That’s Melvin Seals.

“Which one?”

The one that looks like his name should be Melvin Seals.

“I still think I’m winning Rando War.”

These aren’t randos!

“Agree to disagree.”

“They aren’t, Phil. Now this is a rando.”

No, Amir Bar-Lev. That is Michael Moore.

“He smells.”

I would imagine.

“And he won’t stop talking about Bernie.”

I would also imagine. You should get away from him before he rubs off on you.

“His bad luck?”

No, he physically rubs off on people. On the other hand, you might want to stand next to this fucker forever.

“It’s a good contrast, right?’

Totally. Your face has, like, bones in it.

“He just asked if I had any candy.”

Okay. Abort, abort. Get away from Michael Moore. The man makes awful movies and his voice makes me envy the Deafheads.

“But I look so good.”

Find an ugly fucker who makes good movies.

“Hmmm. Wait, I got it.”


Dude, you killed it.

“I rocked this shit.”

Why wasn’t the ’81 European tour covered in Long Strange Trip?

“Al Franken made me cut it.”


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