Thoughts On The Dead

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

Amazing What Twelve Bucks Will Get You

Apparently, there was more than one roll of film shot at the hooker motel that day, and thank the Jesus for it: the black-and-white shots don’t reveal the depths of the Bush League that marquee sinks to.

“Boss, we’re out of red W’s.”

“Just use the blue one and stop bothering me.”

OR

Phil, is that a falconer’s glove?

“Yeah.”

Where’s the bird?

“Otis got to it.”

Sounds right.

OR

College shirts: 1

College degrees: 0

(There aren’t even six high school graduates in this shot. Phil, Brent, and Garcia got their diplomas from various Bay Area highs, but I think Bobby and the drummers are without credentials.)

OR

“Ma’am, can you identify the man who stuck his finger up your butt in Radio Shack?”

“Number one.”

“You sure?”

“You don’t forget something like that.”

OR

The marquee. Christ, the shoddiness.

3 Comments

  1. You’re just going to let that thing on Hart’s head go uncommented-upon?

  2. Billy channeling Bill Murray.

    Jerry looking humble.

    Phil wants to slash or lash something.

    Bobby, observing Mickey is humming Flight of the Valkyries.

    Brent still can’t believe it.

    Mickey is Ace of Aces.

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