Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: john mayer (Page 5 of 42)

Let’s Get A Picture

March 1, 2019 / / 6 Comments

Ah! Time-Traveling Clapton!

“It’s not Eric Clapton.”

Took that fucker forever to grow a beard.

“Clapton?”

Yeah. Usually guys with chins that weak have whiskers early. Garcia sure did.

“You know I love Garcia, but the man would not have made a good Batman.”

No. Just didn’t have the jawline.

“Or the physique, if we’re honest.”

He did watch one of his parents die right in front oh his eyes as a child, though.

“True. Do you feel like the importance of that event gets glossed over in biographies?”

Oh, yeah. That’s a primal scene right there. You don’t get over that shit.

“Poor guy.”

Poor Garcia. Hey, is that Slim Shady’s cousin, Skinny Ugly, on the left?

“Had to be a dick, huh?”

Yeah. The readers expect it.

“All dozen of them?”

It’s eleven now. I pissed one off on Twitter.

“Sounds right.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“You’ll die alone.”

We all will.

“Yeah, but you’ll die in, like, an abandoned warehouse in Troy, New York.”

Oh. Yeah, probably.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Hack.”

Wiener.

…

“You’re on with John.”

“Hot Dog Dick! Come get Dotard! He no will leave!

“Fuck.”

“Come get! Kim never thought Kim would say, but: feel bad for America.”

“Well, unlike the Dotard, you’re human.”

“We try to ditch. No tell him which club we go to. He show up anyway.”

“You guys are going to clubs?”

“Buy bottles. Fuck bitches.”

“That’s no good.”

“No! 김치 똥 make bitches uncomfortable.”

“Excuse me?”

“김치 똥. Does not translate directly. Basically means ‘gastrointestinal distress caused by too much fermented food.’ Is what we call him. We tell him means ‘Master of this and all Universes.’ His translator say, ‘No, it means Kimchi shits’ I say to Dotard, ‘Who you believe, me or him?’ Guess who he believe?”

“You.”

“Is almost not fun. Like having fight with baby. No satisfaction in winning.”

“Have you ever actually fought a baby?”

“Fight baby all the time. Every Tuesday, fight baby.”

“What? Why?”

“Keep sharp. On edge. Where I gotta be.”

“Did you just quote Heat at me?”

“Still hold up! Pacino, De Niro, Kilmer. Fichtner!”

“Gotta go.”

“Fichtner kill it every time! Even when movie bad, Fichtner great!”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Come get 김치 똥! He your problem!”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

Toppermo

February 27, 2019 / / 1 Comment

Wow, a belt and drawstrings. You rocking some suspenders under the tee-shirt?

“Don’t hate. Celebrate.”

Ew.

“I’m kind of shocked you didn’t mention my toppermost in the last post.”

I was trying out a new thing where I pretend you dress like a human.

“Nah. This particular ‘most was created for me in the idyllic Japanese town of Yugopinao.”

Yugopinao?

“Say it out loud.”

…

Ah.

“By an incredible artisan named Detective Pikachu.”

No.

“It’s his masterpiece. You can fit an entire tea service and a 400-year-old bonsai up the sleeves. It’s called Snow Falls On A Frog’s Testicles; The Frog Goes ‘Yipes!’”

Very Japanese. Where did all your friends go?

“Bob Saget’s fucking them all.”

All of them?

“Saget fucks.”

Sure.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“What did I say?”

Nothing, but I gotta do my little parody of the Congressional hearing. I feel like people are waiting for it.

“They’re not.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Asshole.”

…

“You’re on with John.”

“Suicide.”

“What now?”

“Is Momo. You suicide.”

“Oh, go away.”

“You crazy now. See Momo, go crazy, suicide. You suicide now.”

“I hate being part of this.”

In The Ity

February 26, 2019 / / 2 Comments

What the fuck is this?

“Dude, we had the best Oscar night party ever! I recreated the Vanity Fair red carpet in my house and invited cool people over and I did an episode of my Instagram talk show.”

I’m literally begging you to start doing coke.

“Stop it.”

Just try shooting up one time. Just once. You’ll probably hate it.

“I thought you snorted coke. You can shoot it?”

You can shoot anything if you’re cool enough.

“IV drug use is not cool at all, man.”

Cooler than your lily-white party, colonizer.

“It is a diverse crowd. Dave Chapelle’s here.”

Did you just use the “Some of my best friends are Dave Chapelle” defense?

“Just stop it.”

Who are these people? Is that guy a gamer? Something about him screams “I have a Twitch account.”

“That’s Diplo.”

Inventor of the Lego-like blocks for toddlers?

“That’s Duplo.”

Ah. He’s got powerful thighs. Does he do a lot of cross-country skiing?

“I have no idea.”

Ask him. Ask your party guest about his thighs.

“I won’t.”

Fine. What’s with Manic Panic there?

“This is Halsey.”

Palsy?

“Halsey.”

Admiral Halsey? He acted stupidly.

“Did you just quote Red October at me?”

Yes.

“Nice.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I complimented you!”

I guess it just felt like you were lying.

“Did you just quote my own new song, available on Apple iMusic, back to me?”

Did I? Oh, now I feel dirty. Answer the phone.

“Dick.”

…

“You’re on with John.”

“YEW WAIT JUS’ A MINNIT, BOY. AH’M SPEAKIN’ WITH SOMEONE MORE ‘PORTANT TH’N YEW!”

Ah, shit.

“ISSA HONOR T’ MEETCHU, YER SEATEDNESS!”

“Why, thank ya kindly, Elvis.”

“AH WANTED T’ GIVE YEW SEVERAL PISTOLS O’ FRIENDSHIP, BUT WAS ADVISED IT WOULD BE INCREDIBLY INAPPROPRIATE.”

“Ah done had some bad experiences with guns, son.”

“YEW EVER MEET JOSH MEYERS? HE’S A HOMOSEXUAL FROM TH’ FUTURE.”

“Is he a negroid?”

“NOSSIR.”

“Well, then, bring him round. I need some advice on a new set of drapes.”

“King? Governor Wallace? I have guests over and this isn’t the right time for–”

“AH DON’ SEE NO GUESTS, BOY, OTHER TH’N TITTYDROPS AN’ THAT ANEMIC FELLA!”

“I have many guests, Elvis.”

“See?”

“AHHH! HE GOT HISSELF A BAD SANTA!”

“An’ several o’ them negroids Ah was talkin’ about! Ah knew it! Ah can smell ’em!”

“WE GONNA RETURN FIRE WITH TH’ POWER O’ SOUTHERN HERITAGE!”

“Show them my children, Elvis! Show them what Ah have created!”

“LOOKY HERE, MAN! STARE INTO THEIR EYES, MAN!”

…

“Excuse me?”

John?

“Too weird.”

You’re not wrong.

The Keys To Success

February 12, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Why did you agree to do this?

“Alicia Keys is a friend and–”

Stop talking right there. Just stop it.

“What’s your problem with Alicia Keys?”

There’s something off about that woman. She may be an Information Droid controlled from within the chest cavity by a super-intelligent possum.

“I’ve seen her in really low-cut stuff, so I don’t think so.”

The chest cavity is obviously well-concealed, man.

“Alicia Keys is a human woman. And a very talented one, too.”

She is the female John Legend.

“Exactly!”

…

Oh, you thought that was a compliment.

“I don’t know why I would care about your musical taste. She’s a brilliant musician and you’re just a dick for the sake of being a dick.”

She’s a pirate.

“Stop it.”

Make a joke about it. Call her a pirate. Poke her in the eye and lay your dick on her shoulder and call it a parrot.

“What the fuck, dude?”

Okay, yeah, that was sexual assault I just described.

“And just regular assault.”

The eye thing? No, that was sexual assault, too: I wanted you to use your dick to poke her.

“Wow.”

What the fuck are you doing, anyway?

“We’re doing a bit. See, Alicia had been nominated for a Grammy in 2009 for–”

Holy shit, I already don’t care. Don’t tell stories about how you know other famous people, John. I speak for the rabble: we hate that.

“May I continue?”

And you split one of your Grammys in half and gave it to her, some shit like that? And now you’re doing a bit?

“Essentially.”

Dude, you’re doing bits?

“I’m a triple-threat.”

Why didn’t you perform? You could have joined the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Post Malone.

“Me and Post fell out.”

Oh, no. How about a tribute to XXXtentacion?

” I pitched it, but the producers kept bitching about time.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“You’re just jealous.”

I am objectively judgmental and jealous.

…

“You’re on with John.”

“Rando War keeps rolling…who did you say this was?”

“America’s sweathog, John Mayer.”

“Ah, shit, now I’m crank-calling myself.”

“Where are you?”

“The NAMM show. Where are you?”

“Grammmys.”

“I was trying to call Bobby.”

“Lines got crossed, I guess.”

“We shouldn’t be talking.”

“Not according to all the books and movies.”

“Hanging up now.”

“Take care of our dick, bro.”

“You, too.”

…

“Hey!”

Yessir?

“Don’t do that again.”

Didn’t really go anywhere, did it?

“Creeped me out, dude.”

Breathtaken

February 4, 2019 / / 0 Comments

“Remember the dinosaur that kills Newman in Jurassic Park? He had the neck frill thing?”

Yeah.

“Spat the goo?”

I remember. It’s a very good impression. Lemme ask you a question.

“Is it about my clothes?”

Oh, yeah.

“Great. Shoot.”

Are you the Douche Daddy or the Daddy Douche?

“Pardon?”

You are dressed like the quasi-popular rap tweens from the 90’s, Kris Kross. Your trousers are perfectly misaligned.

“My pants are not backwards.”

They totally are.

“No, the pockets are just attached to the leg instead of inside the seam.”

Right. Like on the back of pants. Where’s your zipper?

“In the back, but that’s because they’re Japanese.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“You know nothing about fashion, and you’re poor.”

Ow.

…

“You’re on with John.”

“John. You know who this is. You know what I can do.”

“Oh, goddammit.”

“Years ago, my cousin Ioan placed an order for Chinese food. The meal arrived both late and without the moo-shoo pork. For three months after, I clotheslined delivery boys off their bicycles. I had a mighty forearm, and it held rage within.”

“Liam, we don’t really know each other at all, do we?”

“We absolutely do. You’re teevee’s Mark-Paul Gosselaar.”

“Close enough.”

“Once, in the late 80’s, a Pakistani man beat me at pool, so I climbed into the homes of sleeping Pakistanis and crept upon their beds and made my shit proudly.”

“Liam–”

“I shat upon them!”

“–first of all: I want to know who gave you my number. Second: you need to stop talking about this stuff, at least to reporters. Trust me on this one: discussing race in public is a high-stakes game.”

“I have never met a Hindu I didn’t kick.”

“Jesus, man. Why?”

“They know what they did.”

“Okay, pal, I gotta go. At a photo shoot.”

“Don’t cross me, Gosselaar. If you insult me, I’ll hunt and beat douchebags for a month.”

“I’m not a douchebag.”

“Then why are you wearing your pants like that?”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

…

“Excuse me.”

Yes?

“Can I not be the straight man for the little ‘topic of the day’ skitches?”

I’ll take it under consideration.

With A Surprise Guest*

February 2, 2019 / / 1 Comment

Why are you like this?

“I sensed danger, and instinctually turtled up.”

That’s your instinct?

“More muscle memory. See, my toppermosts are all bulletproof.”

Really.

“Yeah. They’re stoppermosts.”

You’re unbearable.

“The cotton is impregnated with kevlar, and then carbon fiber is weaved in. It’s not easy to weave with carbon fiber. Most looms break.”

So that thing is bulletproof?

“It can take a shot or two.”

Awesome.

BANG!

“OW! It still hurts! Don’t shoot me!”

Wasn’t me.

“Then who did it?”

BANG!

“OW!”

“Little to the left, Ray, and then give ‘im the old bingle-bangle flizzum flop!”

“All right, then.”

BANG!

“OW! Hey! Jackass!”

Moi?

“Vous. This is stupid, and don’t take Bill Cosby out of the Problem Attic.”

I’ll pull down the steps to that place for whomever I choose, thank you.

 

*Admit it: you were surprised when you saw him.

The Elusion Of Peace

January 31, 2019 / / 5 Comments

“One, two, three, four–”

DON’T YOU DO IT, MOTHERFUCKER!

“–I declare a Rando War.”

Goddammit. Rando War is like the herpes of this site. So it makes sense you’re responsible.

“I don’t have herpes.”

Lie to randos, Josh, not me. You have at least one of every herpe. You collect watches, clothes, and herpes. You’re like that seed bank in Norway, but for herpes.

“I can’t hear you. I’m winning Rando War.”

“Rando War back on? We’re in.”

“Look at these randos! We got four. Beat that, Meyers!”

“Yeah, beat–”

“SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO, NEW BRENT!”

“Not in front of the randos, Mick.”

“You wanna keep flapping your gums, boy? You’re getting clogged!”

PERCUSSIONIST CHASING KEYBOARDIST WITH A PAIR OF ATTACK CLOGS NOISE

…

“Are, uh, we doing a Rando War?”

Bobby, that’s your family.

“Ah.”

Doesn’t count.

“Well, you know, they’re randos to somebody. Like Doctor J.”

What about Doctor J?

“He’d consider both women to be randos. He’d, uh, probably be nice to ’em ’cause they’re pretty, but they’d still be of the genus rand. So, uh, pretend I’m Doctor J.”

Absolutely not.

“Remember that ball we used to use in the ABA? The red, white, and blue one? Stylish ball.”

Stop it. You are not Doctor J.

“Oh, yeah. I can slam that rock. Put that biscuit in the gravy.”

“Does Bobby think he’s Doctor J again?”

Who’s that?

Oh, hey: it’s Bobby’s Parish, Matt Busch.

“That’s not my job title.”

It’s not wrong, though.

“No. Anyway, does Bobby think he’s Doctor J again?”

Yes.

“Dammit. Ah, well, it’s better than when he thought he was Marvin ‘Bad News’ Barnes.”

I didn’t know Bobby was so into the ABA.

“He’s obsessed with failed sports leagues. The ABA, the USFL, that soccer league that had Pele for a while in the 80’s.”

Wow. Never would’ve guessed. Oh, yeah: what are you doing here?

“Rando War.”

That’s George R.R. Martin. He writes the books with the snow and the zombies and the castles and all that shit.

“Sure, but he’s a rando to someone.”

NO. Not entertaining this stupid argument anymore.

“I win Rando War.”

Yes, you do.

“I’m a dog now.”

Yes, you are.

Your Love For Me Has Got To Be Real Housewives

January 29, 2019 / / 3 Comments

Okay, I mean it this time: you can’t be in the Grateful Dead anymore.

“Not your call.”

This is actionable. This is a Dishonorable Discharge. Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to step outside.

“Knock it off.”

I get that Andy is your friend, but why would you attend this function?

“These are the Real Housewives!”

I know. That’s why I asked the question. It wasn’t just because they were women.

“Of multiple cities!”

Your only excuse is that you have a brain tumor pushing up against your tasteythalmus.

“Not a thing.”

It’s the part of the brain that judges aesthetics.

“Look, I’m here supporting Andy and hanging out with Real Housewives. You’re just jealous.”

How many glasses of wine have been thrown?

“I lost count. It started almost immediately. Several of the Housewives brought goggles in anticipation.”

Gotta be prepared. How many of them straight-up invited you into the bathroom for a beej?

“Eight.”

Not bad. How many times you go?

“All eight times, but I only let one blow me. The rest, I made them show me their buttholes.”

When the phone rings, do not continue this line of conversation.

“What?”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Ah.”

…

“You’re on with John.”

“Dead & Co suck. Ari rules.”

“Nephew on the Dead?”

“This guy here is the future. You got a tambourine on your shoe?”

“Mickey probably has one.”

“Josh, lemme ask you a question–”

“Don’t call me Josh. You’re a baby. You don’t get to do that.”

“–you guys ever do Itsy Bitsy Spider?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’d know, dude. That shit’s the jam. My man Ari here does a Spider>Whole Word In His Hands that blows minds, dude. You guys are just posing with guitars. Ari? Ari’s making the real music.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, dude.  Happy And You Know It! He hasn’t played this since 12/11/16.”

“How do you know that?”

“AriBase. I gotta go.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

…

“I don’t wanna talk to him.”

He’s a perfect angel and I’ll throw dinosaurs at you from now until the end of time if you breathe ill of him.

“I don’t wanna talk to you, either.”

I can understand that.

In Hiding

January 24, 2019 / / 1 Comment

You are not as in on the joke as you think you are, buddy.

“Of course I am. I’m trolling.”

Or are you self-owning? Fine, fine line. Why are you hiding in your toppermost?

“I love it in here. There’s so much coze. And comf. An over-abundance of the two, in fact. If the world knew about the sensual delights of the toppermost, I believe global peace would be achieved. Who could fight in this?”

So tell everybody. I noticed you referred to them as “robes” in your GQ interview.

“The toppermost is a secret garment for the elite. You know that. I start blabbing about ’em in magazines and I can’t buy anymore.”

Sure. This one seems to be one of your favorites.

“Sunrise in Santa Fe And The Sprinklers Have Just Come On At The Golf Course?”

Good name.

“It sounds better in the original Japanese.”

Everything does.

“Ask yourself: why does this toppermost have five colors?”

I don’t want to ask anyone that.

“Five is a big number in Japan. That whole Shinto thing they’ve got? Five is huge with them. It’s like how the number three is big with Christians. Japan is nuts for the number five. Now ask me why it has these particular five colors.”

No.

“Because they complement each other. Full stop. Combining the theological with the pure aesthetic. Logos and pathos, thesis and antithesis, all that jazz. Clothes are the new punk rock, y’know.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Was it the punk rock thing?”

Oh, yeah.

…

“You’re talking to a very comfortable John Mayer.”

“What the fuck are you doing, dude?”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re in the middle of a show, buddy. You blipped out of existence.”

“I’m at a photo shoot.”

“Right, great, but you should be on stage in Mexico. Oteil is very worried, and Bobby’s gonna notice any second. Photo shoot for what?”

“To show off my fancy clothes.”

“Yuh-huh. Any chance a Time Sheath got mixed up with your laundry?”

…

“Shit.”

“Get the fuck back here.”

DIAL TONE NOISE BECAUSE THAT KIND OF PHONE MAKES THAT KIND OF NOISE

Wardrobe Concerns

January 23, 2019 / / 3 Comments

You can’t be in the Grateful Dead anymore.

“Not your decision.”

It is. I’ve staged a coup. Like in Venezuela.

“Topical.”

Seriously, though: you’re out of the group. This is disqualifying behavior.

“You’re telling me none of the Dead ever did fashion spreads back in the day?”

Not one. Each of them walked around like a tatterdemalion.

“Whatever. I have a distinct taste that I like to inject into the zeitgeist. Would you like to discuss the intersectionality of meme culture and streetwear?”

God, no.

“For me right now, what trousers are all about is modality. Of seams. Of cuffs. My wardrobe has to shift and bob weave, and this on multiple planes. So, really, we’re talking about modality and planality. And temporality, if we’re gonna be clothes-nerds about the whole thing, because maybe I’m rocking a bandana from Massive Tongue from 2006 and combining that with a Visvim superbelt from 2012.”

Superbelt?

“It’s like a belt, but better.”

Sure.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“You’re becoming predictable.”

Becoming? These bits ran out of juice years ago. Answer the phone.

…

“You’re on the can with a stylish man.”

“Little Potato!”

“Fuck.”

“Why you not come to Only Korea on Asia tour, bro? Not cool, bro! You hit Pyongyang Stadium! Be epic!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Residency at casino.”

“You have a casino?”

“I build casino.”

“Kim, I can’t play Only Korea. It’s against the law.”

“Not here. You come. Rock out. Green room will be so nice for you.”

“No.”

“Spacious. Airy. Tasteful. Kim Jong-Un pack with skank.”

“Hanging up.”

“Father invent skank.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

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