“You see that Dear Jerry thing, Bruce?”
“I did. Most of it. Enough.”
“Thought you were gonna be there.”
“It turns out that I didn’t want to.”
“Good call.”
“Y’know, Trey: I’m not the only keyboardists left alive because I’m dumb.”
“I hear that.”
“Where were you?”
“I find the whole jam-band scene boring and creepy and insular.”
…
“I’m shitting you.”
“You had me going, T-Rex.”
“Don’t call me that.”
…
“What are you hearing about their general levels of sanity/consciousness?”
“Mickey and Bobby are sharp-eyed and ready to play.”
“Billy?”
“If he makes it to the end of this book-tour/twelve state rampage/drug marathon he’s on, it’ll be a miracle.”
“Phil talk to anyone?”
“Phil didn’t talk to his own band, half of which is made up of his sons.”
“He’s taking Billy’s book personally, huh?”
“Words can sting, Treyvon.”
I’m so happy there’s someone out there that writes amazing grateful dead humor for all sixty seven of us to appreciate.
Dude, check my analytics: 81 unique visitors last month.
81? Fuck yeah.
Seriously though, sometimes I’m nearly crying. You’re on point and hilarious. Thank you.