Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: john lennon

To The Dead, We Owe Only Truth

If those two men were alive to read the papers today, they’d be sweating their asses off. Because–and let’s not let their talent cloud our eyes–both of them were worse in every way than almost all of the men that have gotten in trouble the past few weeks. No one’s masculinity was more toxic than these two fuckheads. Ah, well. Better dead than in the Problem Attic.

(It’s tough to secure a berth in the Problem Attic posthumously. Ty Cobb did, due to that hack sportswriter’s pack of lies about him; Jimmy Saville, too, but there were plenty of rumors about him before he kicked off.)

AND

That guy on the right is fucking killing it.

Miles In The Sky With Diamonds

“What’s that boy’s name who doesn’t know how to play drums? He was in your band.”

“Ringo?”

“That’s it. Lemme ask you: he simple?”

“I don’t understand.”

“A retard. Ringo a retard? No one who ain’t retarded could play drums that bad.”

“Ringo wasn’t retarded. I don’t think.”

“Trust me. Retard. Gotta have a smart drummer. Tony Williams could hold down a groove while filling out the Times crossword puzzle. And not that easy-ass Monday shit, neither. He’d do Thursday in pen. Never drop a beat. He was like you. Dug Chinese bitches.”

“Yoko is Japanese, Miles.”

“Japanese people are just Island Chinamen. Not sneaky. The white propaganda during the war said they was sneaky, but this isn’t true. Straightforward motherfuckers, just weird. Chinese bitches got different kind of pussies than white bitches or black bitches. This is true. You know this. Chinese bitches got double-jointed pussies. Used to have one could open up a Heineken bottle. Then she’d drink the whole thing. All with her pussy. Amazing pussy.”

“It’s something else.”

“Got me to wondering. Maybe it’s all the Chinese. Not just bitches. Maybe the men had magic dicks or some shit. I had to know, but I ain’t no sissy.”

“What did you do, Miles?”

“I made Chick Corea fuck a whole bunch of Chinamen. He wasn’t queer or nothing, but it’s my fucking band so he did it.”

“And?”

“And what, motherfucker?”

“Do they have magic dicks?”

“Chick didn’t think so. I think that experience was what led him to that Scientology bullshit he does.”

“Yoko knows some Scientologists. Don’t you, Yoko?”

“My dear friends the Cannonbaums are–”

JAZZSLAP!

“What the fuck, Miles? Why’d you hit Yoko?”

“I felt she was disrespecting me.”

“Don’t beat up my wife. That’s my job, okay? I beat up my wives; you beat up your wives.”

“I don’t beat them up. I beat them, but I don’t beat them up.”

“I’m not seeing the distinction.”

“It’s subtle, motherfucker.”

“Miles, I forgive you for striking–”

BEATLESLAP!

“You’re doing it all wrong. That was sad. Power comes from your hips. You just swinging your arm like a fairy. Gotta get your torque going.”

“I think I know how to hit my wife, Miles.”

“Boy, I was slapping wives before you were born. Don’t give me your bullshit.”

“Could both of you please stop hitting–”

JAZZSLAP!

“See the hips? Were you watching?”

“I’ll try it. I’ll try it once, but I like my way.”

“One of my teeth is loose. You hit me really–”

BEATLESLAP!

“See?”

“That felt good, actually.”

“There are numerous bystanders. I don’t know why no one’s calling the po–”

JAZZSLAP!

“What was that one for, Miles?”

“Bitch was gonna snitch.”

OKAY. That’s enough. No more of whatever this is. Everyone stop beating his wife.

“I’m not beating my wife. I’m beating his wife, motherfucker.”

We’re done. I wish this hadn’t happened.

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