Thoughts On The Dead

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

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Who Says A Basic Bitch Can’t Play The Funk Music?

We’ve found it, Enthusiasts. The 800-pound gorilla of Sincere Acoustic Covers; the silverback that turned Dian Fossey into a woman; an ape whose cape King Kong wouldn’t tug upon. We have ourselves a winner, folks, and yes the song is not truly all acoustic, but it does have whiteness in spades, and whiteness is truly the most necessary component of the SAC.

Is it breathy? Oh, it is breathy.
Is it slow? Slower than a dead turtle.
Are there banjos? Fetch Granny her girdle, thar be banjos.
And does Taylor mean it? She means it, maaaaaan.

I don’t mean to sound overly dramatic, but this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to black people. I am including slavery and that time the Urkelbot ran amok in Indianapolis. They are owed reparations for this bullshit here; the song may in fact be a hate crime.

But I don’t hate you. Cleanse your palate with funk:

The Cover-Up Is Always Worse Than The Crime

Jam Cruise and JamOn and jam bands in gen’ral
Rabies and scabies and diseases ven’ral
Douchebags on Instagram showin’ off their bling
These are a few of my most hated things.

And, of course, the Sincere Acoustic Cover. The Sincere Acoustic Cover (SAC) is responsible for Global Warming. The SAC gives puppies cancer–real cute ones, too–and blinds ducks and other waterfowl. Remember the Deepwater Horizon? SAC did that shit, and tricked Edward Windsor into becoming a Nazi. When you were a child, the world was full of wonder and promise; it is now not, and that is because of the SAC.

The SAC is why Trump won.

For the newcomers: there are rules to a Sincere Acoustic Cover. Come on and reiterate with me:

IT’S ALL RIGHT TO BE WHITE The SAC is, like lacrosse and the benefit of the doubt, only for honkies. An ethnic performing an SAC becomes, for the length of the song, an honorary white person. 80% of an SAC is growing up in a house with a three-car garage.

SAC, YOU BETTER WATCH YOUR SPEED Hey, hey, hey! What’s with that mildly-upbeat tempo you’re strumming there, hoss? Slow that shit down. How else are you going to over-emote the lyrics? How else are you going to let us know that you mean it, maaaaaan?

(A note/counterpoint: An SAC of the Sex Pistols’ God Save The Queen would be fucking hilarious.)

TINKLE TINKLE, YOU BIG FUCKING STAR (Piano only) See those keys all the way on the right? You better use those shits.

WHAT DO YOU CALL A DOG WITH A CANTALOUPE? Melancholy, motherfucker. That’s what we’re aiming for with an SAC. Regardless of what tone the original track took, the SAC only has one lane to drive down and it is the Melancholy Parkway. Not sad. Melancholy. You’re not singing about the bitch/bastard what done you wrong, no: you’re singing about the gal/feller you had a good time with, and now it’s over, but wasn’t it fun while it lasted? Maybe you see them on the Facebook and they look happy, and you think about hitting “like” on one of their posts, but then you don’t.

So: we have our ground rules, Enthusiasts. Everyone picked out their safe words? Wonderful. Like Ronald Reagan said, it is now a time of choosing.

This is by–and I am quoting–an enigmatic bossa nova band from Los Angeles called Ituana; it was recently featured in the hit show-for-ladies Big Little Pretty Little Lying Liars. While technically not an SAC, I feel that it qualifies because of how irrationally furious it made me. LISTEN TO HER BREATHINESS! It’s like Julee Cruise was having an asthma attack. This is the worst thing that’s even happened to humanity, and I am absolutely aware that today is Holocaust Remembrance Day as I make that statement. The Nazis could have saved money on Zyklon B had they just played this at Auschwitz, because everyone would have just killed themselves.

But it gets worse.

How, TotD? What could be lower, more rank, fouler than that bit of feculent shit–and feculent shit is the shittiest shit there is–that you just made us sit through?

Ladies and gentiles of the jury, I give you American Girl by Taylor Swift.

None of you made it all the way through, did you? I got to about a minute in and then I slammed my testicles in my desk drawer, like, six or seven times. Why? Because you can only feel one pain at a time. American Girl is a driving song, and this song does not make me want to drive: it makes me want to turn the car on with the garage door closed, and then shoot myself. It is the worst thing Taylor Swift’s ever done, and I am including John Mayer. It is–

“What the fuck was that, man?”

–so terrible that…excuse me?

“You’re excused. What was that shit?”

I know that nasal voice.

“Seriously, man: what the fuck was that shit?”

Taylor Swift.

“I don’t wanna know her.”

Good instinct.

“I got a lot of ’em.”

Dude? We miss you so much.

“Yeah?”

Totally. We all didn’t realize how much we loved you.

“You love me?”

Yeah.

“Don’t play that shit any more.”

Done.

What Is TotD Not Reading Today, Part 2,087

Thinkpieces, longreads, call-outs, or exegeses of Taylor Swift’s new album

Lemme guess: is Taylor Swift’s new album about Taylor Swift? And what everyone thinks of Taylor Swift and how they’re wrong (but also a little bit right)? What about the haters? (There are so many haters.) Does Taylor slay the haters? Exactly what role does White Supremacy play in the title track? What does Rob Sheffield think?

Low-level accusations of sexual assault.

I’ll say it, Enthusiasts: we’ve reached Peak Accusation. From here on in, I need a real big name to garner my interest, or someone out of left field. Like, if the boys from Hanson have all been assaulting each other for 30 years, then I will read that story. Don’t bother me with Richard Dreyfuss; I already assumed he was whipping it out constantly.

Essays regarding the Marvel movies as films.

It’s just guys named Chris punching each other. Remember Guardians of the Galaxy 2? The baddie in that one was a living planet, a world that had achieved sentience, and he was defeated when a guy named Chris punched him.

Warnings to the Democrats to stop focusing on “identity politics.”

Let’s play a fun game. Who’s got a dog? Great, you look at your dog while I say “identity politics.” Did he look around? I bet your dog looked around, because “identity politics” is a dog whistle, but a unique one. It informs you of its bias by exclusion, rather than allusion. Identity politics is what blacks do, and gays and Mexicans and all the other various brands of ethnic whatnot. Identity politics is never, though, practiced by whites. Why, even to suggest such a thing gives me the heebies and a touch of jeebies. White is not an identity, nosiree: white is…well, normal. Insistence that politics be tailored to white people isn’t “identity politics,” it’s simple acquiescence to the true way of the world. It’s just common sense.

Here, look at this bullshit:

There’s no denying that a significant source of the energy in the Democratic Party comes from people for whom identity politics are highly salient. But these findings suggest that further sharpening these issues will not gain Democrats much of anything. To the extent that some white voters are alienated by these issues, identity politics may backfire, driving votes away. “Democrats, Cut The Cheer” Washington Post 11/10/17

The racists must be appeased. At all costs, the ire of the Fox News viewer cannot be aroused. It’s fine to be black, I guess, but could you do it a bit more quietly? Straighten out those wrists, sissies. Speak English or die.

Can’t you all be a bit more grateful?

And then there’s this asshole

Since the election, both United and American have set up weekly shuttles from D.C. to Bumfuck, whisking Big Media to diners and bowling alleys and VFW halls to have the same exact conversation with an interchangeable set of characters:

  • Shirley Puckler, 51. Works for the county. At least one family member addicted to opiates. Keeps her Basic Menthols in a knit purse. Likes how Trump speaks his mind, but wishes he’d tweet a little less.
  • Gary Lyons, 62. Retired. Meets his buddies for coffee at the same diner every morning at dawn. That NFL thing is getting to him, and so is the media’s negativity.
  • Jesse Faring, 38. Unemployed. Just comes right out and says “nigger.”

Throw in some local color about how pretty the fucking trees are or something, and you’ve got yourself an article.

The Russian stuff.

This is not out of principle. After two paragraphs full of names like Polonskaya, Kutepova, and Vinogradov, my eyes dry up and suck back into my skull for protection. It’s why I’ve never made it through The Brothers Karamazov.

Taylor Swift Is Not Jewish

Taylor Swift is not Jewish. I know that little skitch published on Medium is a joke, but it’s not funny. We have enough problems without T-Swizzle and her salty thirst or thirsty saltiness, or whatever the teens are texting one another lately.

In fact, not only is Taylor Swift not Jewish, she’s incredibly not Jewish. Here are some things that are more Jewish than Taylor Swift:

  • A pig.
  • Foreskins.
  • Potluck dinners.
  • Garcia.
  • Whatever the fuck that rhubarb bullshit is that Garrison Keillor’s always harmonizing about is. (On the other hand, listening to Garrison Keillor is very Jewish.)
  • R.O.T.C.
  • The Belgian national anthem. (It is entitled “Hi, We’re Belgium; Thanks for Inviting Us.”)
  • Rodeos. (Some horse-related bullshit is Jewish–betting on them, or buying one for your daughter–but rodeos are one of the least Semitic gatherings.)
  • Never-Ending Shrimp Week at Red Lobster.
  • Retiring to Central Florida.
  • The new Dodge Challenger. (Hands down the least Jewish car on the road today.)
  • The Left Behind series of books.
  • Cricket. (Eating or playing.)
  • Denali National Park. (Denali is the least Jewish Park. Most Jewish is Death Valley, because a dry heat is the Jewishest of all possible weathers.)
  • Katy Perry.

Worlds Collide, And Coexist, Like Checkers On A Board

Screen Shot 2016-07-30 at 12.54.14 AM

Is this your thing now?

“I identify as an Italian restaurant.”

That’s not a gender.

“It is on Tumblr.”

What would Garcia think?

“He would think it was as funny as I’m intending it to be.”

Dammit.

“Gotcha there a little, huh?”

Awful smug for someone who’s about to be yelled at by Taylor Swift.

“What?”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“MotherFUCKER!”

CELL PHONE NOISE

You should pick that up. It’s going to keep ringing.

“Why do I feel like Daffy Duck?”

Because I stole this bit from a Daffy Duck cartoon.

“Hey, Taylor.”

“Shut the FUCK UP, you ASSHOLE FULL OF AIDS.”

“Whatcha doing?”

“You are as FUCKING USELESS as QUEEN ELIZABETH’S COCK, you SWEATSOCK FULL OF VOMIT. You do NOTHING for me, FUCKING NOTHING, so I took care of things BECAUSE I’M THE ONLY ONE AROUND HERE WITH A PAIR OF FUCKING BALLS!”

“You took care of things? What does that mean?”

taylor swift north korea

“I’m dating Kim Jong-Un now.”

“Look what I got, cocksucka! Number one white girl is queen of Only Korea now!

“I truly didn’t sign up for this. I just wanted to solo for hippies.”

“Tell your fat little whore Katy that I GOT NUKES NOW, TOO!”

“I’m not going to tell her that.”

“What the fuck are you wearing? Is this your thing now?”

“Taylor Swift, Kim Jong-Un: hang dai!”

“It’s really gotten too weird around here.”

When TMZ Met The DMZ

CELL PHONE NOISE

CELL PHONE NOISE

“This is–”

“John, shut the fuck up, you twat-breathed cunthair, or I’ll feed that lumpy turkey gobble you call a cock to my cat. WHERE’S MY BOYFRIEND, FUCKO? I need to fucking DATE, asshole-eyes! I fucking SING and I fucking WEAR CLOTHES and I fucking HAVE FRIENDS and I MOTHERFUCKING DATE. My BRAND is NOT BEING SERVICED, you pile of CORN-FILLED SHIT.”

“Hey, Taylor. How’re things?”

“Tense.”

“I hear that.”

EXCLUSIVE: Taylor Swift In A Heated Discussion On Her Cell Phone

“I’ll kill you, John.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“With my hands, John. I’ll kill you with my hands.”

“Why is this my responsibility, anyway? I’m very busy singing and wearing clothes and having friends on my own.”

“But you’re not dating. DATE ME, CUM-NOSE!”

“Cum-nose?”

“Nasal creampie.”

“Huh. Gotta try that.”

“I WILL MURDER YOU IF I AM NOT DATING SOMEONE BY THE END OF THIS PHONE CALL, MEYERS.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“And then I will LEAVE YOUR ROTTING CORPSE IN one of my MANY, MANY HOMES and I will DATE YOUR FUCKING CORPSE, JOHN!”

“You really love to date.”

“I do. What are you doing?”

jm pink shirt groceries

“Groceries, wearing clothes.”

“You love wearing clothes.”

“I do.”

“Where’d you get those pants?”

“Borrowed them from Bobby. Wait: can you see me?”

“Don’t worry about it. DATE ME, MOTHERFUCKER!”

“Taylor, listen: I can’t–

CALL WAITING SOUND

CALL WAITING SOUND

“–do this right now, and…shit, hold on. I’ll be right back.

“It’s Mayer, player.”

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRR! I drop bomb on all you hot dog dicks!”

“Who is this?”

kim jong un phone

“This is Kim Jong-Un from Only Korea. Put Harry Mendoza on line.”

“Hold on.”

“COCKSUCKA!”

“Taylor, I should take this.”

“COCKSUCKER!”

Stars: Just Like Us

jm watche interview

“…and then I realize how many other places on the human body were ripe for watchery. There’s your ankles, your neck. Dong watch. Pocket watch attached to a butt plug, or a nipple piercing. Beard watch. So many possibilities and ways to spend money. Did you know–”

CELL PHONE NOISE

‘–that in Chinese, the symbol for watch is also the symbol for opportunity?”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I have to take this.”

“Please hold for Taylor Swift.”

“Goddammit.”

taylor swift horse outfit phone

“John?”

“How did you get this–”

“John, shut the fuck up or I’ll drive to where you are and RUN YOU THE FUCK OVER, you little BALLSUCKING SHITSTAIN.”

“–number?”

“You’ve changed.”

“FUCK YOU, FUCKHOLE! You need to sit those NEARLY-DEAD COCKPUDDLES YOU’RE BUTTFUCKING down and tell them WHAT’S FUCKING WHAT, you pigeon-toed HAIRCUT WITH AN ERECTION!”

“The Dead?”

“WHO DO YOU THINK, ASSMOUTH? I need to date a Grateful Dead.”

“But they’re not cute, and they smell.”

“Y’know what’s gonna smell? When I SHIT IN YOUR ASS, and then make you SHIT MY SHIT, and THEN FEED YOU MY SHIT THAT YOU SHIT, YOU SHIT! My Q rating SUCKS thanks to that MELTED BARBIE OF AN ARMENIAN WHORE and you will help me out of this or YOU WILL DIE AT MY MANICURED HAND.”

“Okay, okay!”

“I didn’t know you had a horse.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FIX THIS!”

A Knight Shouldn’t Be Treated This Way

bobby paul blurry.png

“Bob, why is everything so blurry?”

“Could be a metaphor about artistic cohesion and the waning thrust of creativity.”

“The universe is doing metaphors?”

“This one.”

“Bob?”

“Yoko?”

“Really: stop that.”

“Sure, sure.”

“What’s going on again?”

“Semi-fictionality. Kinda like a pocket reality? Character free of context, but bound to narrative. Plus a time machine.”

“Bob.”

“It’s a Time Sheath, if you wanna get technical about it.”

“Bob.”

“Also, dead people aren’t dead. Well, they’re dead, but they still come around.”

“If you see one of those Dancing Bears wandering around, that’s probably Brent. He’s a big fan. Or it might be a demon.”

“Uh-huh. I don’t understand.”

“That’s natural. This is actually one of those deals where the more you explain it, the less sense it makes. Helps if you’re tripping.”

“Tripping? On acid?”

CUT TO: BACKSTAGE

“You dosed Sir Paul McCartney? I dosed Sir Paul McCartney. Jesus, how many people dosed Sir Paul McCartney? We should check on him.

CUT TO: BOBBY AND PAUL

“I don’t do that anymore, Bob.”

“Oh, yeah, no. Me neither. No, no.”

“I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I know some jokes.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

CELL PHONE NOISE

“You gonna get that?”

“This is Sir Paul. How did you get this number?”

“Please hold for Taylor Swift.”

“Excuse me?”

taylor-swift-dumped-calvin-harris-over-the-phone-ftr

“Oh. My. GOD! Sir Paul McCartney. I am your biggest fan in the world and I have all your records. Plus I got in full hair and makeup for this call.”

“I’m a little busy, love.”

“I will FUCK YOU WITH YOUR OWN WIG if you don’t date me immediately, YOU PASTY, SHIT-EYED, LIMEY FUCK!”

“What?”

“My numbers Jew and my press homo say I gotta suck your iron-deficient cock on TMZ to get my Q back up. I’m sending my jet.”

BRITISH DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH BRITISH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT (I ASUUME)

“That was Taylor Swift? She is coming to kidnap me.”

“Well, then: lucky you’re here. I’ve got experience with this kind of bullshit.”

“Why is my spine tingling, Bob?”

“Is it? Huh. Could be your Beatle-Sense.”

“No, Bob.”

A Conversation No One Expected

pigpen back street dog

Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?

“Bein’ a role model to man and beast alike!”

That dog seems to like you.

“He ain’t lovin’ the Pig! He lovin’ the ham!”

“I got me a samwich!”

Oh. Camera’s behind you.

“Which is why I done explained the situation! You thick as Boston molasses! Now: tell the Pig what’s goin’ on out there.”

You don’t want to know. Also: you’re in, what, 1967? There is quite literally no point of reference.

“Gettin’ bad?”

Weird, more like.

CELL PHONE NOISE

CELL PHONE NOISE

“What the hell is that racket!?”

Check your pocket.

“What the hell is this contraption!?”

What does it look like?

“I got no frame of reference!”

Uh-huh. Just swipe the button.

“It’s very intuitive!”

Sure.

“You got the Pig on the line!”

“Please hold for Taylor Swift.”

“Who!?”

Oh, COME ON.

taylor_swift_-_apple_iphone_-_5

“Is this the Pigpen? Oh my God, I am SUCH a huge fan of yours, and your music, and your unreleased solo albums. Would you like to date?”

“What!?”

“All right, listen to me, you filthy urchin: my team has crunched the numbers and for some ungodly reason, being seen with you in public is the only thing that will shore up the breaches. I’M FUCKING DYING HERE. And you’re gonna help me, or it’s gonna be bad for you, you got that?”

“Who dis?”

“Taylor FUCKING Swift, you cocksucker! I am motherfucking WHITE GIRL JESUS and I have told you to JUMP, you shitty little mutant, and now you are gonna ask me, ‘HOW FUCKING HIGH UP YOUR ASS, Ms. Swift?’ and I will not have your family MURDERED BY HYENAS in front of you!”

“Well, whaddya look like?”

“Hold on. Sending a pic.”

“What!?”

DING!

“Well, ain’t that magic.”

“Heh. Yeah, no. Sorry, little girl: you are the opposite of my type! It ain’t gonna work!”

“WHAT? YOU CUMSTAINED PILE OF AIDS-SHIT! I’M GONNA–”

DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANYMORE

“I’m gonna chuck this gadget down the sewer and go get drunk!”

That’s the best decision anyone’s made today.

“They don’t call me the Pig for nothin’.”

Shakedown It Off

CELL PHONE NOISE

CELL PHONE NOISE

“John Mayer, international poontang slayer.”

“Please hold for Taylor Swift.”

“What?”

EXCLUSIVE: Taylor Swift In A Heated Discussion On Her Cell Phone

“John, things are fucked up.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“Because people are treating me the way they treat you, John. Help me or I will destroy you.”

“Taylor.”

“I’ve grown so powerful in the years since we spoke.”

“Taylor.”

“I’ve received so many awards, and been so surprised at each one.”

“I’ve also dated.”

“You do enjoy dating.”

“And having friends.”

“You have the best friends.”

“John, I have a proposal: we get back together.”

“Taylor, we are never, ever getting back together.”

“I see what you did there.”

“Yeah. Anyway: no: we banged for two months and you wrote a song about what a sleaze I am.”

“I was a naive young girl, and you took advantage of that. You killed love, John.”

“Uh-huh. And the literally millions of dollars you made off the song and the attendant narrative casting me as the douchebag?”

“That was business, John.”

“Good-bye.”

DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANYMORE

 

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