Thoughts On The Dead

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

Category: Uncategorized (Page 164 of 1031)

An Excellent Question

March 9, 2019 / / 3 Comments

Why should you listen to 11/20/73 from the Denver Coliseum?

  • It is a ’73, and life is short.
  • Real purty Row Jimmy.
  • One of the last shows of 1973 featuring Mrs. Donna Jean; her pregnancy would cause her to stay home after Thanksgiving, and is referred to by Bobby onstage in Boston as “her delicate condition.”
  • Perhaps you have been listening to too much funk, and need to cleanse your palate with some soothing choogle?
  • Mind Left Body, braj.
  • I know you’re a Spanish Jam kind of cat.
  • But.
  • Mind Left Body, braj.
  • Mindy Left Brody, dude.
  • Brody’s all fucked up about it.
  • Fucker’s fucking fucked up.
  • BANG!
  • …
  • That was Brody.
  • He shot himself.
  • Listen to 11/20/73 in Brody’s honor.

PS You should also listen because the version I linked to is the Usborne matrix, and I haven’t heard it. Tell me if it’s any good.

I’d Hammer All Over This Promised Land

March 9, 2019 / / 1 Comment

I don’t know what’s going on with you lately.

“Well, you know, I’m all about fitness. You like fitness?”

I know this joke.

“Deez nuts.”

No, it’s…ah, forget it. Seriously, what’s happening here? Are you trashing your dressing room in a fit of Rock Star pique?

“We never did that sort of thing. That was those heavy mental acts. Those guys are something else, man. They put on those black jeans and just go hog-wild. Some of them are influenced by Satan. Black jeans and Satan, man. Drive you nuts.”

Uh-huh. You been drinking?

“Only enough to get drunk.”

Okay. Please tell me what you’re doing.

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

Sure.

“Been cast in a big Hollywood production.”

As?

“John Henry.”

He was black.

“They’re gonna digitally darken me.”

This is a great idea.

A Terrible Poem About Longing

March 9, 2019 / / 1 Comment

O Lord make me a Gentile
With hard-working hands
Skinny little legs
And a hard round belly
When you got a tool like mine,
You gotta build a shed over it.

Bud Lights in Sturgis
Daytona Beach
I wanna get thrown out of Dollywood, Lord

Bandanas
Oooh, lemme at them bandanas, but
Not like David Foster Wallace
The opposite of David Foster Wallace
And not a do-rag, neither
Obviously not a do-rag
You know: a bandana
Stars and bars’d be just peachy
Or Old Glory
Something patriotic, Lord.

I wanna call every man I meet Brother.

Molly Hatchet’s playing down the fairgrounds tonight
My cousin’s working security
We gonna have ourselves a time.

The Somewhat-Less-Than Sacred Store

March 7, 2019 / / 4 Comments

Some of you don’t click on the blue words, which is rude and anti-Semitic of you, but still I must teach. For I am the Teacher. O, hearken unto my swingtacular sausage and meatballs. Clam sauce time, children!

Stop it.

Why?

It’s not right and it’s not good.

Those are excellent reasons to stop doing something.

Illuminate the picture, please.

Parish is, like I linked to previously, selling vaguely-Garcia-related bullshit he found under his couch on Ebay. This is a cable that once connected Garcia’s wooble pedal to his spazmoidizer; it was at no point ever plugged into his guitar because Garcia’s guitars were so preciously hand-crafted that they required custom cables. (And none of ’em ever sounded better than his Strat.)

In case you doubt the item’s provenance, Parish provides a picture to assuage your fears.

That’s just as good as a certificate of authenticity. (ALSO: Holy shit, Garcia’s big. Oh, Lord, he soloing.)

Upon slightly more poking, one can also find a jacket given to Garcia, stolen by Trixie, and now sold by Parish.

In these fractious times, the one thing Americans can all agree on: white denim was a mistake.

This has been your Daily Grateful Dead Content. Content! It’s your life now.

A Hairy And Terrible Poem

March 7, 2019 / / 1 Comment

The bad guys always whisper
“It is more intimate with a blade”
Listen to villains.

I was naked for the act
I was naked when you died
I softened you up
With water
And potions
Ordered off the internet

You put up a fight
Good for you, slugger
Rome fell, too
We all fuck off in the end
The press will call it a mercy killing
We can get the public on our side

It was like that shot from Psycho
You swirled goodbye
Clean-shaven face to match my heart

Trixie Garcia: Posture Princess

March 7, 2019 / / 1 Comment

Hey, Trixie Garcia-Girl.

“Just Garcia.”

I couldn’t call you Garcia. That’s what I call your dad. It would be weird.

“No, my last name is just Garcia. First of all, my mom’s name wasn’t actually ‘Mountain Girl,’ and second of all, you’re an idiot.”

Gotcha. Your hair looks cool.

“Thank you.”

And edible.

“If you’re gonna be weird, I’ll sic Parish’s Parish on you.”

Seriously, what’s going on with those two?

“I don’t know and I’m not asking.”

You think she’s trying to get into the will? Get a piece of the vast Parish fortune?

“Fortune? The man’s an ex-roadie. Like, 80% of his holdings are in stories. He’s selling wrenches on Ebay.”

Sell the face right off your head.

“You got it.”

Trix?

“Trixie.”

One last question.

“Make it quick.”

Sure. You think you should have finished the cocaine on the table before you took the picture?.

…

“Dammit.”

Is that a “yes?”

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