Thoughts On The Dead

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

Category: Uncategorized (Page 210 of 1031)

Overture

September 11, 2018 / / 4 Comments

Topics That Will NOT Be Covered This Evening:

  • 9/11. You want 9/11? Buzzfeed has a list of 23 Funniest 9/11 Tweets By Asian Women. I’m not doing it this year.
  • The American-led Pinochet coup of 1973.
  • Norm MacDonald and his slow-talking bullshit.
  • The Avital Ronell sexual harassment case.
  • Wombats and their dodecahedral assholes.

Topics That MAY Be Covered This Evening:

  • The Catalonian independence movement.
  • Mickey’s birthday.
  • How shitty the Egypt shows were and how apoplectic I’ll be if they get re-released instead of shows that, you know, sound good.
  • Bobby’s fascination with, and possibly lust for, Herbie Hancock’s keytar.
  •  The history of Idaho.
  • Sheila and Tiresias’ adventures in Los Angeles.

Topics That WILL Be Covered This Evening:

The Invention Of The Hebrew Calendar

September 10, 2018 / / 2 Comments

THE MIDDLE EAST – 5778 YEARS AGO

“Shlomo?”

“Yes, Shushy?”

“I had an idea.”

“Oy. Is it like the idea you had for hats? Because I have to tell you: we have the worst hats.”

“It’s not about hats.”

“They don’t keep your head warm, and they don’t keep the sun out of your eyes.”

“The idea is not hat-related.”

“And they fall off constantly. Is your idea bobby pins? Because we could use bobby pins.”

“Forget about the hats, Shlomo. This is a big idea. You’re gonna plotz.”

“Is it magazines? I could go for a nice general-interest magazine. I was at the podiatrist the other day and I had nothing to read while I was waiting.”

“Not magazines. I think I invented a calendar.”

“A what?”

“A calendar. You know how the rivers flood once every twelve full moons?”

“Sure.”

“I think that means something. So I wrote it down.”

CALENDAR REVEALING NOISE

“Where did you get that printed? The pyramids haven’t even been built yet.”

“Don’t worry about it. Each full moon is called a ‘month.’ And then after twelve, we start all over again.”

“And it fits neatly like that?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. My system requires constant tinkering and rejiggering and the occasional 13th month to keep it straight.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure but I think the moon is far less important in the grand scheme of things than we think.”

“We are remarkably primitive.”

“Barely human, yeah.”

“13th month?

“Uh-huh. Seven out of every nineteen years are leap years that require an extra month. Also, no matter what we do, we’re still gonna lose a couple days every decade.”

“Shushy, I think you need to take this idea back to the woodshed.”

“You’re a nut. This is great plan.”

“I don’t know about that. When does the year start?”

“September.”

“Can you be more specific than that?”

“I cannot.”

“Oy.”

“The New Year is called Rosh Hashanah, and it will be some time in September. Maybe real early October once in a while.”

“How will you know when it happens?”

“You’ll walk into the house and it’ll stink like kreplach.”

“Why don’t we just keep using Bob’s calendar?”

“Bob? Bob the Babylonian and his Base-6 bullshit? No thank you.”

“But his scheme works! 365 days plus a leap day every four years. No muss, no fuss.”

“Shlomo. Mishpochah. Is that how the Jews do things?”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Things That Were Less Insulting To Jews Than Cynthia Nixon’s Lunch Order

September 10, 2018 / / 6 Comments

  • Topol getting the lead role in the movie adaptation of Fiddler rather than Zero Mostel.
  • Woody Allen convincing the world that Jews are weak, sniveling, shiksa-obsessed sissies.
  • Sammy Hagar replacing David Lee Roth.
  • The destruction of the Second Temple.
  • Melanie Griffith playing a cop who goes undercover in a Hasidic community. (NOT A JOKE.)
  • Joe Lieberman’s very existence.
  • The destruction of the First Temple.
  • The McBagel.
  • Seriously, look at this bullshit:
  • Did you look at that bullshit?
  • A shanda, that’s what that bullshit it.
  • And, finally: the actual Holocaust.

Remember, Enthusiasts: when we say “Chosen People,” we mean “Chosen to be fucked with constantly.”

More Questions (Re: Headiness) For Jonah Hill

September 10, 2018 / / 1 Comment

  • Why haven’t you answered my questions, Jonah Hill?
  • Don’t you know that your headiness has been challenged?
  • Is there any headiness at all, Jonah Hill?
  • Is that your real last name, mishpochah?
  • Are you trying to hide your Jewishness?
  • Has anyone told you that you are doing a poor job of it?
  • Can’t you just get to the questions?
  • Has anyone told you that you could rim me on Wet-Wipe Wednesday?
  • Is that the morning following Taco Tuesday?
  • Can I just get to the questions, please?
  • Why won’t you die?
  • Jonah Hill, name three hit singles Mrs. Donna Jean sang backup on before she became a Grateful Dead.
  • What was the name of Mickey’s band from when he was in the Air Force?
  • How many times did they play Crazy Fingers?
  • How many times did they play Crazy Fingers right?
  • Which world-famous venue did the Road Crew partially destroy while loading in the band’s equipment?
  • Bobby’s touch football team is named…?
  • How responsible were the Grateful Dead when Mount St. Helens erupted?
  • Would you be interested in reading the screenplay I wrote about Vince called No More Samba, No More Rain?
  • Who was the only Grateful Dead to maintain legal possession of his scammed Ford Cortina?
  • Do you think the Enthusiasts would be open to the return of Sleepy Batman?
  • What about Walrus Jesus?

The Parable Of The Starfish

September 10, 2018 / / 2 Comments

The tide had washed thousands of starfish onto the sand, and a little girl was bringing them back to the water. She picked up the five-legged creatures and walked them down to the surf and tossed them in the sea, as far as she could.

An old man came up to her and said,

“Little girl, what are you doing?”

“I am saving these starfish,” she said.

The old man laughed at her. He pointed to the piles of starfish surrounding them and said,

“You will never save them all!”

“Go suck your mother’s dick,” the little girl said. “If I wanted your opinion, I would’ve eaten a fucking gun cuz who the fuck would care what you think, you shitkicking simpleton.”

And then a seagull plucked out the old man’s left eye. He left the beach, and the little girl continued with her task until a nun approached her. The nun said,

“Little girl, what are you doing?”

“I’m saving these starfish,” she said.

The nun laughed and motioned further down the beach, where thousands of jellyfish had washed up onto the sand, and said,

“But what about them? Why are you only helping the starfish?”

“The jellyfish?” the little girl said. “Because they’re poisonous. Are you kidding me?”

And then a shark leapt from the water and ate the nun. The little girl went back to helping the starfish until a shaggy man in a New York Yankees uniform walked up to her and said,

“Hi, I’m Thurman Munson.”

“Hi, Thurman Munson,” the little girl said. “Would you like to help me save these starfish?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Why not?”

And the little girl and Thurman Munson threw starfish back into the sea until there were no more left on the sand.

Deny Everything, Bob

September 9, 2018 / / 3 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Bobscotch.”

Not a thing.

“Oh, yeah. See, I’ve been playing these songs for, uh, ever and I gotta keep ’em interesting.”

So you play a child’s game while you’re performing?

“It’s not a child’s game. Would a child wear this hat?”

No, Bruce Dern would wear that hat.

“Underrated Dern. Most folks go with Laura, but I’m a Bruce man.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Hold on, I gotta get this.”

…

“Yello?”

…

“Uh-huh.”

…

“Really, now?”

…

“Uh-huh. Could you, uh, hold the line for a sec?”

…

“Hey, you.”

Me?

“Yeah. Guy on the phone says is name is Clarence Darrow. Wants to ask me a few questions.”

I truly doubt Clarence Darrow is calling you, Bobby.

“Roman Sparrow?”

Ronan Farrow? Is that the guy’s name?

“Hold, please.”

…

“He says it is, yeah.”

HANG UP THE PHONE, BOBBY.

“He sounds like a fan. Actually, he sounds like Frank Sin–”

HANG UP THE PHONE, BOBBY.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

What? No! I don’t wanna–

ROCK STAR HANDING A PHONE TO AN IDIOT NOISE

Ah, Christ. Haloooo?

“Hello, this is Ronan Farrow. To whom am I speaking?”

Holy shit, you look like your dad.

“Woody Allen?”

…

…

…

Yeah. Sure.

“Mm-hmm. I was calling to speak to Robert Weir, late of the Grateful Dead about some allegations made against the organization.”

Rowboat–

“Don’t call me that.

–there’s no story here. Trust me on this one. Whatever may or may not have happened was all consensual and in the spirit of highjinks and larks.

“Well, I’m just going where the facts take me. Can you put me back on with Robert, please?”

In a second. Lemme just ask you something: do you have a Time Sheath?

“A what?”

It’s like a time machine.

“So why don’t you just call it a time machine?’

Because “machine” implies technology, and the Time Sheath runs on magick.

“Was there a ‘k’ at the end of that word?”

Ronan, do you have a Time Sheath?

“No.”

The Grateful Dead does.

“Who the fuck would trust those morons with something that powerful?”

See, there’s the journalistic instinct that is serving you so well. I have no idea how they got the Time Sheath, but they did and holy crap the things someone with even the tiniest bit of imagination can do with it! For example, it could be used to strand a nosy nelly in the year 1322. You can do all sorts of things with it. Capiche, paisan?

“I’m not Italian.”

Uh-huh. Do we understand each other?

“Are you threatening me?”

Yup. Stay away from the Grateful Dead.

“Or what?”

SHWAZATHOOM!

Or that.

“THERE’S A FUCKING STEGOSAURUS IN MY OFFICE!”

Do we understand each other?

“FINE! FINE!”

Awesome. Big fan of your work, but stay the fuck away from the Dead.

“HOW DO I GET RID OF THIS THING?”

A meteor might do the trick.

What Is A Deadhead?

September 9, 2018 / / 1 Comment

A Deadhead is a child of the sky and America, and a tiger burning bright, and a cousin of the least threatening Aztec god. And the Mother of Shadows. Every Deadhead is, in times of great personal peril, able to assume the mantle of Mother of Shadows.

A Deadhead is capable of both eating and being eaten; this is the duality of lunch.

A Deadhead is never going to that place by the airport for a squeegeejob again, not after what happened last time.

A Deadhead is never grody or schmuck-like; he eschews blumpkins, dirty Sanchezes, and other novelty sex acts; she takes care as to not strangle ducks. A Deadhead does not scoot across your carpet while holding his ass cheeks akimbo. A Deadhead will never rename your drapes.

A Deadhead is always processing food into energy. Don’t even try to stop the process, man. It’s involuntary, that process.

A Deadhead is flanked on all sides, every vantage thick with enemies and impurity and disease and the end. The end surrounds Deadheads; do you understand this? There is harm about, and it is faster than we are, and it is devious and patient and its mind does not wander like our’s does. We have no moat at all. Just shoulders waiting for the taptaptap. Harm will cut in, but the Deadhead continues dancing.

A Deadhead is not a zebra. The species is incapable of having a favorite band, as evidenced by the total lack of Van Halen posters in teenage zebras’ bedrooms. Also, zebra are dumb and mean, and you think they’re gonna look like striped horses, but they don’t; they’re scrawny and misproportioned and clearly a first draft. Fuck zebras.

A Deadhead is ancillary.

A Deadhead is a bubbly muffin, a whoopdee-doo, the stuffing in life’s couch, mellifluous to the deaf, horribly barbarian, and never going back to the place by the airport again.

 

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