Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: mexico

#NOTMYWALL

  • Better than China’s.
  • WiFi, but just on the U.S. side.
  • Maybe a big mural of Trump and Jesus and a gun and Jesus again.
  • Difficult to phase or teleport through, in case there is a team of Mexican X-Men. (Bad X-Hombres!)
  • Should not topple over if leaned against by fat guy, even if he is very fat.
  • Alligators taped to Mexican side.
  • So thick that Sir Mix-A-Lot would hit that shit.
  • Embedded invisible fence within wall, and we put shock collars on all the Mexicans and also we make the Mexicans pay for their own shock collars.
  • Really, really, really mean dogs everywhere.
  • Every third sentry tower has a pitching machine cranked up to 90 mph hooked up a Raspberry Pi with pattern recognition software, and if you’re shaped like a Mexican then you get a fastball to the face.
  • Put the whole thing on wheels so we can move it a couple feet south every night; in a few years, we’ll be halfway to Durango.
  • Moat made out of:
    • Lava.
    • Used hypodermic needles.
    • All the shit from the alligators we taped to the Mexican side.
    • Boiling oil. (Estimated cost of keeping a a 2,000 mile-long, 20’x10′ river of oil at 400 degrees: all-the-money-in-the-world a month.)
    • C.H.U.D.s

Rock And Ruin

“Ass!”

Hey, Billy.

“Look at this shit! Got some pyramids, a rando, my lucky red hat: life’s good.”

You look happy.

“Gotta tell ya, though: these Mayans couldn’t build for shit. Half these suckers don’t even have roofs.”

They’re ruins, Billy. They didn’t look like that a thousand years ago.

“We don’t know that.”

You think they built them that way? Crumbling?

“The fuck do I know? I’m not a Mayan. Shit, I’m not even a Mexican. You should ask Garcia.”

Garcia’s not Mexican, either.

“Sure he was. Is. Whatever. Mexican as shit.”

No he isn’t. Wasn’t. Whatever.

“I’m pretty sure Garcia was Mexican. If he wasn’t, then why’d we pick him up for band practice outside the Home Depot?”

Jesus, Billy.

“How many kids he have?”

Please stop talking.

“A Mexican amount! What is it: seven, eight? There’s Tricky.”

Trixie.

“Abalone.”

Annabelle.

“Gypsy Danger.”

That’s a giant robot.

“Good kids. Love those kids, but they’re Mexican. You should see ’em get over a wall.”

We’re done.

“We haven’t even talked about skank!”

Your racism and lies have ruined the skank. Are you happy?

“A little.”

Madman Across The Border

Hey, Bobby. Look at you.

“Went where the weather suited my trousers.”

If there’s any place in the world those pants are appropriate, it’s a Mexican resort.

“You bet.”

Do this again next year?

“Might be a problem. New Brent didn’t get back across the border.”

Jeff Chimenti is his name.

“There’s no ‘J’ sound in Spanish, so he’s probably gonna have to change it.”

Why can’t he come back?

“He’s been classified as both a drug kingpin and a Syrian.”

Wow. I didn’t know you could be declared a Syrian.

“We’re learning a lot about civics lately.”

Hey, Garcia Tee-Shirt.

“Hey, man.”

Mighty Wind Is Gonna Be My Name

You look like the Maxell guy.

“That’s a powerful consumer audiotape right there.”

Industry standard. How you feeling?

“With my hands.”

I meant physically.

“Me, too. I grab stuff.”

I think you’re just messing with me.

“Yeah, yeah I’m, uh, just full of beans today. Being full of beans, ironically, is why you’re asking me how I’m feeling.”

Burrito?

“Here’s the thing: if you finish it in 20 minutes, then it’s free.”

Oh, no. Don’t take those challenges, Bob.

“I’m a competitive guy.”

How big was the thing?

“Three pounds.”

No one should eat three pounds of anything at one time, let alone foreign meat.

“Panda eats 40 pounds of bamboo a day.”

Are you a panda, Bobby?

“No.”

There ya go. Wait, was this at the resort?

“Uh-huh.”

Bobby, you eat for free at the resort.

“It wasn’t the money. It was the principle.”

Ah.

“Billy did it for the money. Put down two of the suckers and made the restaurant give him ten bucks.”

That’s not how that works.

“It is when Billy does it.”

Sure.

Bobby Is Okay

Bobby.

“Bobcommandante Marcos, please.”

No. Bobby, take that thing off and stop leading Zapatistas.

“They are my people.”

They’re not. Do you even speak Spanish?

“I understand it fluently.”

Bob, don’t defend the indigenous peoples of Chiapas?

“If not me, who?”

Literally anyone. Take that thing off your head and go back to the resort.

“Yeah. Gonna liberate it.”

Don’t liberate anything, Bobby. Go play guitar.

“The guitar of freedom.”

Whatever.

 

Packed House

Billy just tweeted this out and said it was the crowd in Mexico; this alternative fact thing simply has to stop.

So Long, And Thanks For All The Phish

“Hey! Legs!”

Me?

“Yeah. I got some cartilage to pick with you.”

I don’t think that joke makes any sense. Dolphins have bones.

“Never took marine biology.”

Wouldn’t you just call it “biology?”

“We’re getting off the point.”

What is the point?

“Tell Weir to suck my dick. Or whatever it is I have.”

A cloaca?

“I honestly don’t know.”

What’s your problem with Bobby?

“That loudmouth sister-in-law of his–”

Lilian Monster.

“–got in his ear about how the dolphins were being abused, and he fucked my shit up. I got no gigs this weekend because of him.”

Wait. You like interacting with tourists all day?

“Like it? LOVE it.”

I am shocked.

“The best. First the little ones stick their hands in my blowhole, and then their fat fuck parents ride me around like I’m a carnival pony, and then they toss me fish like I’m their inferior.”

I see.

“And, ohhhh, do I love posing for Instagram pictures.”

Uh-huh.

“Really feel like I’m fulfilling my purpose.”

Dolphins have discovered sarcasm, have they?

“Well, first we tried to discover explosives.”

What happened?

“Fuses got wet.”

Sure.

“Honestly, thank Bobby. Weekend off is nice. Listen to some tunes, catch up on my sleep. Still haven’t seen Stranger Things.”

It’s a must.

“Tell Billy he can totally break in here and hang out with us.”

He doesn’t need any approval on that one; I can almost guarantee you’ll see him.

“Awesome. Uncle fuckin’ Billy. Oh, hey, I figured out what our dicks look like.”

I don’t need to–

–GAAAH. Jesus.

“Ahhh, yeah.”

Is it giving the finger?

“Jealous?”

Fuck, yeah. If my dick could give people the finger, I’d be a millionaire.

“That’s a good gimmick.

It is.

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