Nickels for Ned
Nickels for Ned. Ned has no money. Let us pool our resources and collect
nickels for Ned. Ned is nice. There are lots of people who are no longer
nice, and there are even more people who never were nice to begin with. But
Ned is totally nice and he really needs our nickels. What are we gonna do
with them anyway? I only keep quarters, because, fuck pennies, fuck dimes,
and definitely fuck nickels. We don't need nickels: Ned! Ned needs nickels!
Give 'em to Ned! I love Ned! Ned!
He's not my best friend, of course. He's too stupid to really be a friend.
He's stupid, because what does he do with the nickels anyway? He eats them,
he loses them, sometimes he gives them away. The ones he eats, he shits them
out and then eats them again. At any given moment, he's got at least a dollar
and a half in nickles in his large intestines, and yet he insists he needs
more. Ned is starving and he needs more nickles. He doesn't understand
money, he thinks it's for eating, and nobody can explain it to him, he's so
stupid. He says dimes and pennies are too small and any other coin is too
big. Nickels, he needs nickels. Ned needs nickles. Ned!
Ned is a professor of semiotics and semantics at Princeton, but he will never
get tenure, because he is so stupid about the nickels. So stupid. Ned is the
author of many fine books, most notably, "The Double Dildo in Fourteenth
Century Architecture," but today he's here to talk about his new book, "A
Marxist Critique of Millard Filmore's Enema Bag Collection." My question for
you Ned, and I'd like you to answer it in song, is this: How many testicles
must be collected in freemason jars before the patriarchy will disintegrate
into separate subsidiaries and blossom into even more insidious nursing
homes?
"Okay," says Ned, "Thank you for the question, but I don't feel like singing
today."
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