Those crap flinging monkeys from Vermont are at it again and this time it’s personal! I don’t know what they’re smoking up there in Yankee town, with all their naked hippie girls and their millionaire music concert shows, but this is beyond outrageous. If you have no idea what I’m talking about I’m talking about the Phish, probably one of the worst music acts in the history of moron music. It’s not even music! It’s a lot of tooting and banging and disco ball lights and boys smoking reefer bong hits and girls flashing their bouncing hootenanny’s like there’s supposed to be some rhythm there in those songs, which there isn’t!
Leave it to the top orangutan, a fellow named Trey who has the reddest, meanest little monkey face you ever did see, leave it to old Trey to do something like this. You got Trey and then you got one who dresses like a lady housewife with her vacuum cleaner named Fishberg but she’s no woman under that dress! I realize they have no standards for gals up north and I know they get all excited for special homosexual marriage so can they plug any hole with Peter Precious, but for the life of me I can’t believe there’s a creature alive who would want to bond in holy matrimony with that sweaty little chimp. I can just tell he smells somewhere between a burnt taco and a dead canine. And there’s one named Page Gordo with a imbecile smile, drowning in hair product. She’s bug-eyed like she got slapped around by enough two-by-fours to build a horse barn.
So this all started a year or two ago and because I’m a professional I normally keep this professional but tonight I’m pretty angry but anyways so about two years ago a friend showed me these Phish people. They’re all about free love and reefer and dropping out of life and dropping LSD mushrooms which basically make you go insane and it’s permanent! The types who worships this nonsense, it’s a bunch of nasty little kids really, all these rich white college boys driving the big German automobiles of Mommy dearest and then they get real addicted to the reefer. They stop their schooling and cash out the trust fund and buy a pervert van, one of those things you see cruising the little boys down at the park, with the shag carpets and foldout dining tables and the good ones even have a little microwave for making your hot dogs. Funny thing is I used to have one, a sky blue Chevy Starcraft, but it wasn’t really who I was all about so I sold it. Buy American, my friends!
When I heard the music and I heard the story of the Phish I was purple with rage. I mean I wanted to tear telephone books in half! If you’re young, you might not get the reference but in the old days tearing a telephone book in half was a rite of passage for a man. Of course no one does this sort of thing any more, they’re all too worried about their fingernails and you don’t get phone books nowadays with all the wires and hooks of the internet. And then I wrote about the Phish, several times, I did my part as a professional journalist and did some genuine investigating into this whole cult. It is a cult after all, though no one will admit it! They cruise around from town to town in their filthy pervert vans looking for the little boys and girls and giving them doses of mary jane to get them to ride the “love train” of the Phish. I have no interest in sitting in your lap, you dirty hippie, so why don’t you keep on driving to Mexico or Cuba where that sort of thing is just bean in the “culture.”
For a long time these Phish fellows have stayed up North. They like it up there, all liberal and cushy and lots of dumb college kids. Those college kids have to be the dumbest in the history of the planet. They grow beards but shave their chests. Go figure! And then I caused a ruckus and the Phish folks realized they needed new hunting grounds so last year they went out West and from what I hear they tricked a whole lot of people in California into paying good money for their concerts and probably made enough millions to buy themselves another Kennedy for congress. The Kennedys are from that Phish part of the world, by the way, and even though Teddy’s dead, they’re Irish after all so they keep pumping out the babies. Potatoes and beer!
Let me just say here that this music is so ugly it makes you want to disembowel yourself with the dull end of a chicken bone. And that’s not meant to be racist. This has nothing to do with the black folks. In fact, no black folks patronize this music. It’s too heinous even for them! So the Phish have all these songs about raping your girl, and playing with yourself all night long and taking drugs and nothing really good. Sad thing is that no one can tell what this stuff even means because it’s impossible to understand the words they’re hollering. Half the time it’s just some dumb-looking guy smashing a drum set while the rest of the band is taking a dump in their big touring buses. Those things are like two stories high and they got hot tubs and gas grills and room enough for a dozen people to sit around, which is how it goes most nights when that monkey Trey has some fresh young bananas to peel. Goodness knows what Fishberg does with himself cooped up in there…
After these Phish people decided I was keen to their game, they stayed clear of the South. It’s got a lot to do with music. You see, we respect rhythm and tempo and tones, and base and composition down here. We have great Southern music! Our songs are our hearts! We might not have all that fancy equipment of the big city, but we got soul in spades! Again that’s not a slight on the black folks, they got soul too! They add a lot of spunk and grit to Southern music. God bless them they do try sometimes!
A long time ago there was a gay hippie from New York City. His name was Neal Young and he did not like the South. He wrote a song called “Southern Man” which was all about how mean and awful life is down here. It was a lot of malarkey and no one paid him any mind but some got real upset. So these other boys, these real down home boys, wrote a song about what a moron old Neal was and their song became one of the biggest hits of the 1980s! Just goes to show you how deep that rivalry between North and South goes.
I realize I’m sort of missing the point of my purpose here tonight. A friend just filled me in on the fact that the Phish is now planning on driving down to Tennessee this summer. My Tennessee! It feels like a personal insult, a real kick straight to the gut. I mean, we had this sort of truce, this kind of gentlemen’s agreement. (What kind of gentleman is a monkey, after all?) You stay out of my yard and I won’t ever bother to step foot in your North. It’s funny because I have no interest in the North, just a bunch of boys with silly hair and butch gals with no breasts. So now they’re coming my way to some sort of banana festival and who knows what that’s all about (monkeys everywhere!) but it’s the first time I’m hearing about it. I don’t have all the details, but it sounds just stupid. A bunch of morons dressing like it’s the sixties, swapping VD with each other while these Phish are up there tooting and hollering. We don’t want your Yankee VD down here, it’s that simple! You Phish boys broke our truce and THIS IS NOT OVER!
And something else my friends: