Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: prince (page 1 of 3)

Without Love, It Ain’t Much

To paraphrase the old saying about Ginger Rogers: Sheila plays those timbales as well as Tito Puente, but in an evening gown and high heels.

A Princely Throne

burner-hottie-portapottie

“We call it Paisley Poop.”

It’s what he would have wanted.

“Prince pooped.”

Everybody poops.

“Not Elvis.”

And look what happened to him.

“Jumpsuits?”

Death.

“Much worse.”

Why are you so happy in the port-a-pottie?

“We’re filth, all of us, you and me. Decaying carbon and a belly of methane, manure-in-waiting. Enjoy it.”

No.

“Enjoy it!”

No! Is math a hard science?

“Many find it challenging.”

Not what I meant.

“Mathematics is for clairvoyants and the youthfully mad. If Madame Blavatsky had combed her hair less, and had a penis, she’d have revolutionized number theory. Every great mathematical discovery was made by young men, right at the age when schizophrenia comes on. Surely those facts have no relation at all.”

Perhaps there’s an equation.

“Hard science? No: a representational and once-removed descriptor of a reality containing the real, the imagined, and the irrational. Mathematics isn’t a science like chemistry. Magnesium is a thing. 22/7 is not: it’s a notation of a thing, based on scratching notches on a wall to count animals. An equation is true in the sense that a poem rhymes.”

Is that a Nazi hat?

“Would it upset you if it was?”

Depends. Are you Lemmy?

“No.”

Then it would upset me. Lemmy was the only person who got the Nazi Pass.

“Ah, Lemmy. So young.”

So beautiful.

“It’s not a Nazi hat.”

That’s good.

“The owl’s a Nazi, though.

That’s bad.

“All night: JEW! JEW! He’s obsessed.”

Sounds rough.

“He’s very loud. At least, for a tattoo.”

You’re everything I want in a woman. After you’ve been thoroughly disinfected, of course. May I scrub you down?

“You weren’t listening about the filth thing. Besides–”

You’ve got a boyfriend.

“–I’ve got a boyfriend.”

drunk-garfield-mascot

“MONDAYS, RIGHT?”

It’s Saturday, man.

“CAN YOU GIMME A RIDE TO COURT?”

I formally protest this bit.

A Summoning Of Many, Gradually

prince guitar magazine

I saw this in Barnes & Noble the other day while I was paying $55 for a coffee-related milkshake, and needed to share it with you. It’s the embodiment of every–

“OHMIGOD why didn’t I know this magazine existed?”

–thing I find…dammit.”

“Guitars, and cars, and watches. THOSE ARE MY THINGS!”

Hey, John.

john mayer pink shirt groceries 2

“Put the magazine in the grocery bag and no one gets hurt.”

Go buy your own.

“I’ve already done my shopping for today.”

Dude.

“You’re right: I’m always shopping.”

Meyers be shopping.

“Don’t call me that. C’mon, gimme the magazine. You’ve been a complete dick lately.”

I kinda have.

“Just toss it in the sack.”

What’s in there? What do Hollywood types eat nowadays?

“Ube, purple bread, and artisanal Spam. Plus twelve to fifteen acai bowls a day.”

No smoothies?

“Acai bowls are the new smoothies. Acai is a superfood, you know.”

I heard that. What exactly is it?

“A superfood.”

Yes, thank you, John. But what I’m asking is: is it a fruit, vegetable, herb, berry, tuber, what? Is it meat? Was fermentation involved? What the fuck is it?

“It’s a superfood.”

Oh, why do you do this to yourself?

“I hate you.”

CELL PHONE NOTIFICATION NOISE

“No call?

Nope.

“Ooh, it’s Twitter.”

Yeah? What does it say?

Screen Shot 2016-08-18 at 9.47.39 PM

“Oh, I seriously don’t want to be part of this storyline.”

I’m almost agreeing with you on this one: he’s not allowed to interact with anyone.

“Why’s that thin-lipped slumlord talking shit about Katy?”

Fuck that guy.

“And why’s he talking shit about me?”

You do date.

“I’m great at it, though.”

Question.

“Shoot.”

What’s John Mayer’s idea of a perfect date?

“Emmy winner attends to my butthole while I solo. Encounter is filmed on multiple go-pros.”

What about her butthole?

“You didn’t let me finish. First I wouldWAIT! This is a trick, because while I DO date, I do NOT date and tell.”

Totally do.

“Did. And, like: twice.”

Yeah, but the two times were to Howard Stern and a Playboy interviewer.

“Tactical error blamable upon youth.”

Sure, yeah.

“And I don’t do that any more. Now, I just talk about myself in interviews.”

Yup.

“Rude. Rude and coarse. This fucking guy. Well, my mind’s made up: I am not voting for Donald Trump.”

Your mind was not made up previous to him insulting you in a tweet from four years ago?

“I was waiting for the debates.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“What!?”

Oh, you know what you did.

“Tell me what I did.”

I’m not speaking to you.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“You’re the thought police.”

I’m the Dream Police, man.

“Cheap fucking Trick.”

The Trick, man.

“See: we’re friends again.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

Pick up the phone, fucko.

“I’m calling Irving Azoff about you.”

I’m sure he’d love that. Stop talking to me and talk to whoever’s on the other end of that phone.

“Who is it?”

I have no idea yet.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“This is John Mayer; please kill me.”

“Please hold for the President.”

“Dammit.”

“This aggression will not stand, John! I am beset upon all sides by the vainglorious, the vile, the villanous, the vertiginous, the voluminous, the vorpal,

“Vampires.”

“Is this about the tweet?”

“How dare he, John? I am the President of the United States and will not be spoken of in that way. I have placed myself in control of the armed forces.”

“That’s already one of your jobs, Katy. I mean, it would be if you weren’t hallucinating this whole episode.”

“If I’m hallucinating, then where did I get this uniform from?”

katy perry army outfit

“Wardrobe.”

“No, John. I’m an army now.”

“No.”

“Look at squadron.”

“Those are backup dancers.”

“My fishnets are made of kevlar.”

“Katy.”

“Hanging off my belt is the Chain of Command.”

“Katy.”

“Whosoever wields the Chain shall gain the awesome power of a fully-armed and operational battle station, John.”

“I’m an army now, John.”

“Katy–

“Admiral Perry.”

“–you can’t go to war with Donald Trump over a tweet.”

“I can, John. The Constitution says it. I quote from Article 3 Motherfuckers that act froggy get jumped. Except all the S’s looks like F’s because they wrote it in British.”

“So many inaccuracies.”

“Don’t worry, John: we’re not going public. This is a stealth war. We’re going to be subtle.”

“Subtle? Oh, God, please don’t say–”

“Doctor Gary is going to dose Donald Trump.”

“–Doctor Gary…dammit, Katy.”

“And also I had another idea.”

“What?”

CELL PHONE NOTIFICATION NOISE

“What this?”

kim jong un cell phone

“The fuck he say about Hot Dog Dick and Princess President Big Boobies? That it! This aggression not stand! ONLY KOREA AT WAR WITH DONALD TRUMP!”

Better Than Clapton’s*

After the show, Prince and Larry Graham took showers, put on their most Christian suits, and went door-to-door bothering people about Jesus.

(Seriously: watch this, or at least skip to 5:50 to hear Prince make sounds with his guitar that a guitar is not capable of making. Ignore the drummer playing BEHIND THE GODDAMNED BEAT.)

*Clapton’s version of Motherless Child is one of the ony things he’s done I sincerely enjoy, so the title is not a dig at the racist boore. (A “boore” is a person who is both a boor and a bore.)

People And Things I Am Ignoring Today

  • Andrew Sullivan’s return to public life, especially if he manages to mention going to graduate school in the first sentence of his 85-million-word screed on how he misread Plato.
  • The latest behind-the-scenes brouhaha at Warner Brothers over the DC Universe movies; not seeing movies used to be so easy, but now you have to take an active stance and start a year early.
  • Oldchella.
  • Blac Chyna.
  • Two sides of the same dumb coin: “militant”/”white tears.” There are serious conversations about race being held, and they need to be, but people using these phrases are not sitting at the grown-up’s table.
  • Anything involving the following words:
  • Super-delegate.
  • Piers Morgan.
  • Prince + Will. (This is a combo: I don’t want to hear about Prince’s will, nor Prince William.)
  • Bitcoin.

Rejected Alternate Titles For Prince’s Song “Wonderful Ass”

  • DAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaamn: Booty.
  • Splendid Rump.
  • Fantastic Tushee.
  • Exemplary ‘Tocks.
  • A Backside Most Energizing And Callipygian, Stout In Presentation, and Warm In Winter, Which, By The Grace Of The Lord, Has Blessed My Face With Its Sitting. (Prince had been reading a lot of 19th-century American literature at the time.)
  • Bodacious Dumper.
  • Peachy-Keen Poop-Machine.
  • Your Ass Is The Windshield, And I’m Montgomery Clift. (Prince didn’t tell anyone about that one, and threw away the piece of paper he had written it down on.)
  • I Wanna Mow The Grass In Your Backyard With My Penis. (Also weird, sure.)
  • Jesus Is The Son Of God, But Your Ass Is The Moon. (Prince had been up for a while at this point and was maybe getting a bit punchy.)

You Sly Dog

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People overlook Prince’s subtlety.

Also: yes, it is actually that hot here.

On’t-day Ell-tay ince-Pray’s Awyers-lay

Our purple tears have mostly dried, but this just appeared at my front door this morning when I went out to steal my neighbor’s paper. There’s a bunch of full shows from every era; YouTube’s filling up with them, actually.

Might get taken down soon, so I’d advise downloading them.

Most Unnecessary Chyron Ever

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Yeah. We know.

An Open Letter To The Guy Selling These T-Shirts

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Dear Guy Selling These T-Shirts,

Holy shit, are you going to get sued. Imagine if Thor’s hammer were made out of lawyers: that’s what’s about to be rammed up your asshole. Prince’s crackhead half-sister who now controls the estate is going to own your house. Stop doing this thing.

I see where you got confused: there are two logos here, and one of them is halfway to public domain by now. You have to work real hard to get yourself a Cease & Desist for putting a Stealie on something. I’m a believer in copyright law and intellectual property belonging to its creators, but a non-hippie argument could be made that the Stealie belongs to all of us at this point.

But the logo you put inside the Stealie? That sumbitch belongs to one guy, and it doesn’t matter that he’s dead: he will come back to life just to sue you.

Don’t die on this hill, man.

Sincerely,
TotD

ps The Stealie is pretty neat, though. Here’s a bigger version:

0E0DED75-D9A1-45F1-971D-3735199DF26B

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