Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: swaggie maggie

When The Swag Met The Benj

Benjy, you be nice to Swaggie Maggie.

“I’m the nicest guy in the world.”

She’s a sweet young woman who is just starting out in this world. Do not instigate foolishness.

“Dude, you’re talking to the wrong person. Watched her lift three wallets and pull a chick’s hair extensions out for eyeballing her.”

Swaggie Maggie?

“I’m pretty sure she’s carrying a knife.”

I’m ignoring you. What have you been up to?

“Talking to lawyers. I, too, am a victim of sexual harassment. I am a brave survivor.”

Benjy, Billy did not sexually harass you.

“It started small. I believe he was grooming me. Comments about my appearance. Waking me up with his sack on my face. He liked when I watched him brush his teeth. He would, like, tongue the toothbrush while making eye contact with me in the mirror.”

None of this occurred.

“At least once a week, he would tell me that I looked sick and take my temperature.”

“Not in my mouth.”


We all get it, Benj.

“–ally. Okay. And, honestly? I don’t think it was a thermometer some of the times.”

It’s not right that you’re saying these things.

“We were out by the pool once, and he made me bounce my junk on the diving board.”


“He called it Cannonballing.”

You are not telling the truth.

“On numerous occasions, Billy sicced the skank on me.”

You can’t sic skank.

“Tell that to the skank and my nipples. They were puffed out like cherries for a week.”

What did the skank do to your nipples, Benjy?

“I don’t want to talk about it. Hurts too much.”

You feel emotional pain over the incident, I understand.

“No, my nipples still hurt.”

Ah. Benjy, everything you’re saying is fake news.

“Da. Is fake news. Hello, Svaggie Maggie.”

Oh, no.

“Putin get svole for young chickiedoodle. Come to Putin, Svaggie Maggie.”

NO! You stay the hell away from Swaggie Maggie!

“Need new vife.”

Current one gonna have an accident soon?


You’re a monster.

“Monster vith pecs of steel. Putin vork chest and tris today, back and bis tomorrow.”

When’s leg day?

“I do leg day next veek.”


“Svaggie Maggie vill be Putin’s new vife. She travel around vorld. Ve vill hunt, ve vill, dance, ve vill vrestle.”


“You cant just change W’s to V’s across board. Must look at usage vithin vord.”


“Typical. Deliver me Svaggie Maggie for purposes of matrimony. She vill make good vife.”

I dunno about that. She’s kind of a pain in the ass.

“Putin vill train.”

OH, HELL NO. Get out of here.

“Excuse me? Can I interject here? Vladimir, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Benjy Eisen. We’ve been in a couple of storylines togeth–”



“Da. I remember you.”

Goddammit, stop blowdarting people.

“Nyet. Now bring Putin Svaggie Maggie.”

“Hey, motherfucker. You think you’re a man with those little-ass fucking weights?”

“You on the little girl machine. Trying to build up your titties.”

“Are nyet called titties, Miles David. Are pecs.”

“Big fat white titties. Rub on them titties while I lift weights.”

“Putin have chest like Perun. Pecs made of thunder.”

“God of thunder’s name is Thor, you Trotsky-stabbing motherfucker.”

Guys? Would you mind knocking it off?



Yeah, okay, neither of you can actually kill me. Listen: Swaggie Maggie has left, so there’s nothing to argue about any more.

“The fuck there isn’t. Bench press time, motherfucker.”

“Da. Putin get belt.”

I’ll leave you two to it.

Swaggie Maggie Getting Her First Taste Of Dick’s


I made something.

You should make something out of yourself.

I should.

Like a corpse.


Et Puer Parvulus Minabit Eos

This is our very own Swaggie Maggie in Los Angeles reminding us all of a truth immortal: you can only push the plebs so far.

Still Smarter Than Charles Krauthammer


Well, hey there. Who’s a good dog?






That’s right.

“Why you talk to cat?”

I talk to everybody.

“Talk to dog. Not cat.”

You’re kinda anti-feline, aren’t you?

“Not against cat. For dog.”

Okay, sure.

“What wrong with being proud of dog heritage?”

This is going in an odd direction.

“Cat come here. Take our naps.”

Please don’t do this.

“Have too many kitten.”


“Do not assimilate. Cat neighborhood is dangerous neighborhood.”

You’re coming up to a line.


And there’s the line crossed.

“Cat poop in house like BAD DOG. Commit crime.”

We’re done.

A Moment With A Dog

img_3476“Hello! Hi! What is wrong? Hello. Hi. Please pet. I love. Hello.”

Hey, buddy.

“I love. Love back. Come. Love back. Okay, I go to you.”

Oh, knock it off.

“I lick.”

Don’t lick.

“I lick.”

Don’t lick.

“I lick.”


“I love. And to taste.”


“Can’t see much.”



More complicated than that.

“Sad and hungry?”

I could eat.

“Me, too. Always.”

I can’t explain it to a dog. No offense.

“Incapable of taking it.”

Madly in love with world and I also want to explode every human being’s brain with telepathy.

“Like Scanners?

You seen that?

“All dogs big Michael Ironside fans.”

That is a surprising fact.

“Most people do not know.”


I know a guy with a mustache just like yours.




You can very rarely go wrong slamming two great logos together, unless one of them is the Nazis’ logo. (Hitler truly understood the power of Brands.) Speaking of National Socialism, here’s Motörhead’s whatever-it-is in a Stealie.

“Lemmy, what do you want the logo to be?”

“It should be metal.”

“How metal?”

“All. It should be all the metal.”

Which is how you wind up with some sort of pig-dog with fangs, tusks, and jewelry bearing the Iron Cross.

The Dead and Motörhead had virtually nothing in common besides charismatic, hard-living frontmen and talented, psychopathic drummers. They attracted different crowds: the Dead drew longhairs and potheads in tie-dye t-shirts; Motörhead’s crowds were longhairs and pothead in black t-shirts. Also, the Dead–


–preferred to…excuse me?

“You STEAL from DECENT PEOPLE. u r a menace. i h8 u.”

Dammit, Swaggie Maggie: stay in the Comment Section.


You live with your parents.



“You stole my thing! Of the Stealie and your friend that died.”

He wasn’t my friend.

“Lenny Kibblemaster.”

Lemmy Kilmister. Just Lemmy, usually.

“That’s a weird name.”

It was a nickname.

“WAS HIS BAND ANY GOOD? What was their name? Monsterface?”


“What was the umlaut for?”

They thought it looked cool.


Please don’t call Motörhead swag.


More influential than good, really. They were like the British Ramones: they made the same record twenty times, but they had a great sound. Motörhead sounded like a tornado that was angry at you.

“oooooooh. so scared. did they do DRUGS?”

Yes, but not the right ones.


Lemmy enjoyed speed. Speed has never been a cool drug, not in rock and roll, and not in the actual world. LSD, cocaine, molly – all these chemicals have had their day in the sun. Hell, heroin was just about the coolest thing you could put in your body for most of rock’s history. But there’s nothing hip about a speed freak.

“Drugs are bad. The sloth on the internet said so.”

I have no idea what you’re talking about half the time.

“That’s because YOU ARE OLD.”


“True, fam.”

I know.



Oh, no.

“Why did you STEEEEEEEAL?”

I didn’t steeeeeal anything, Swaggie Maggie. Get back in the Comment Section.

“fite me. I WILL CUT YOU, OLD MAN.”

Either speak English or stop threatening me.

“What is this?”


Oh, that’s the tweet that shows it was your idea. The Japan thing.

“Ya BURNT. You thought it was Fozzie Bear–”

Buzz Poole.

“–who said it because he is A MAN and it was AN IDEA and ONLY MEN HAVE IDEAS according to you because you live in the PROBLEM ATTIC.”

Maybe a little.

“You sleep there.”

I don’t want to sleep in the Problem Attic: it’s cold and everyone up there is in blackface.



There were a lot of good suggestions for BEST EVAR, and sadly only all of them could be BEST EVAR. This last one comes from a Mild-Mannered Enthusiast and has been picked because it’s from Rutgers in my home state of New Jersey.

Scarlet Begonias and Fire on the Mountain are in that special class of partnerships: true equality between peers. Neither song is Sherlock, nor is the other Watson. Scarlet and Fire are like Laurel and Hardy, but not Abbot and Costello: Abbot was the straight man and Costello got the laughs, whereas both Laurel and Hardy alternated doing dumb shit.

And it is at this point that I confess that I have not one more word in me about these two relatively simple ditties and turn the reins over to a child.

Swaggie Maggie’s Thoughts On The 5/15/81 Scarlet>Fire

  • Garcia sounds weird.
  • Is that because of drugs?
  • I hope my mom doesn’t get mad that I am BLASTING THIS SHIT.
  • Drums a little tight.
  • I should interject at this point to mention that I have no idea what that last one meant.
  • Feel like they could be a little slower.
  • I should again interject to mention that she is wrong.
  • Liking Brent more and more.
  • Just when he doesn’t sing.
  • PHIL.
  • phil pleez
  • Digging Garcia.
  • He’s doing great.
  • I’d be spinning if I were there.
  • I now interject to congratulate Swaggie Maggie on her use of the conditional tense, but as to the spinning: NOOOOOOOOOO.
  • You know what?
  • This is really good.
  • I like how you know it’s the Dead just from the drums.
  • Brent keeps it moving.
  • Good transition.
  • It doesn’t even sound like a Scarlet>Fire and I LOVE THAT IT IS AWESOME.
  • BRENT.
  • I like Brent now but not when he sings.
  • Hmm.
  • Garcia needs to be more plucky and woppy.
  • Onomatopoeia.
  • This is pretty all right for a S>F, gotta say.
  • It should be noted that at this point Swaggie Maggie began a lengthy and impressive diatribe about the perils of comparison. Not kidding: she brought up Jackson Pollock and Dixieland jazz. The kids are all right.

This concludes Scarlet>Fire Appreciation Day here at TotD, mostly because if you do this two days in a row, then men in white coats come and get you. If I didn’t get to your suggestion, it’s because you were bad as a child. If I did get to your suggestion, then donations of cash and/or narcotics are expected.

A Dog’s Thoughts On Thanksgiving

Well, hello, puppy.

“Hello. Hello. Hello.”

Who’s a good boy?

“I am! I am! It’s me: I am!”

You are! You are a good boy!

“I know! Everyone tells me that!”

How was your Thanksgiving?


How was your day?


Who’s a good boy?

“Me! Me! Oh, I love when you ask questions I can answer.”

Touch of grey in that muzzle, buddy. You got a couple years on you, huh?

“Are you serious with that question? I lack the mental framework to answer it.”

Gotcha. Anything you thankful for this year?

“The guy is pretty awesome.”


“The lady. Love the lady.”


“What’s that place with all the smells where I go to the bathroom called?”


“LOVE THAT PLACE. But, y’know what? Love the other place, too.”


“HOW GREAT IS INSIDE? Bed, food. Holy shit: have I not mentioned food yet?”


“SO thankful for food. I don’t even have to get it myself. The lady gets it. Or the guy, but mostly the lady.”

That’s how it goes, yeah.

“Toys. I am thankful for toys. Do you know what I like to do with toys?”

Pick ’em up and shake ’em around?

“Did you see another dog doing that? That’s my thing, man.”

I don’t know about that.

“Totally my signature move.”

Okay, fine. Where is everybody?

“They are not here.”

The man and the lady? When did they leave?

“Maybe ten minutes ago or possibly two years: please stop asking me time-related questions.”


“I’m a dog.”

You’re right. Anyway: who’s taking care of you?

“The girl. She comes and we walk and she takes pictures of me and we have fun and I am thankful for the girl.”

The girl? Wait. Does she look like this:


“Yes, that is her.”



Swaggie Maggie, stop breaking the ninth wall!


I might not quite know, either, but still.

“That is NOT MY DOG. I am looking AFTER HER and she is AWESOME and if you don’t think so I will FIGHT YOU.”

Please stop yelling.

“I made you look at my dog. I WIN.”

What are we playing?


Stop that.

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