Thoughts On The Dead

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

Category: Uncategorized (Page 231 of 1031)

Phil Lesh: Bro

June 21, 2018 / / 3 Comments

Still doing the hat thing?

“Stay out of it, jackass.”

“You want me to hit him with my guitar, Dad?”

“Dammit, Grahame, you don’t hit people with guitars. You hit ’em with mic stands.”

So, uh, Phil: you read the book?

“I have not. Which book?”

You know which book. The one about the Dead since Garcia’s death.

“Huh. I was unaware such a thing existed. Maybe I’ll check into that.”

You’re a terrible liar.

“That Selvin asshole is a prick, and has been since nineteen-fucking-seventy-three. Mean little bald fuck, that guy. Remember Liz Adams? Used to do the gossip column? All that shit about who’s fucking who, and who went to jail? That’s Selvin, but he pretends to be a music writer. That guy can suck the piss from my limp dick.”

So, you know him?

“Since forever.”

And you began hating him because?

“He wrote that I looked like Ichabod Crane.”

That’s rude.

“It is. It absolutely is.”

And not true.

“Thank you.”

You look like Sam the Eagle.

“And now you’re on the Fuck You List, too.”

Aw.

Fun Facts Featuring The First Ladies

June 21, 2018 / / 7 Comments

[R]emember the ladies, and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors. Do not put such unlimited power into the hands of the Husbands. Remember all Men would be tyrants if they could. If particular care and attention is not paid to the Ladies we are determined to foment a Rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any Laws in which we have no voice, or Representation.

That was Abigail Adams in March of 1776. She wrote those lines in a letter to her husband, John, while he and the Founding Fellows were drafting the Declaration of Independence. Him and his drinking buddies ignored her, of course, but she tried. She was the first First Lady to live in the White House, and she hated the place. Most First Ladies did, but Abigail had good reason to: it was only half-done and understaffed; she had to hang the laundry in the East Room to dry.

Dolley Madison invented the role of First Lady as we know it, along with ice cream. She was living in the White House when the British (not the Canadians) burned the city down in 1814, and she saved the Lansdowne portrait of George Washington. You know the one: where he looks like he’s watching a dog taking a shit. Pursed lips and all. Dolley saved it! She could hear the troops outside. The carriage was waiting–this was a “time is of the essence” situation–but she wouldn’t hop in unless she brought George with her.

Angelica Van Buren wasn’t Martin Van Buren’s wife, but she acted as First Lady. Marty’s wife, Hannah, had died 17 years prior and he never remarried. Angelica was his daughter-in-law. She was 20 years old when she took up the post. What were you doing when you were 20? I couldn’t figure out how to put my dick in my pants when I was 20, but Angelica Van Buren ran the White House.

Abigail Fillmore gave the White House its first library. Did you know that? I didn’t. Until 1850, there was no library in the White House. You think that says something about America? Me, neither.

Harriet Lane was James Buchanan’s First Lady. She was his niece. Bucky was a Confirmed Bachelor, but there’s gotta be a First Lady, so Harriet took the job. Country loved her, too. She was a fashion icon, and the subject of popular songs, and the namesake of the first Presidential yacht. There’s still a Coast Guard cutter in service called the USS Harriet Lane. Buchanan is not remembered quite as fondly.

Mary Todd had a rough go of it. When you say your prayers tonight, throw one in for Mary Todd.

Lucy Hayes was the first First Lady with a college degree: she went to Wesleyan, just like John Perry Barlow. Unlike JPB, she was a staunch teetotaler and outspoken abolitionist. She was also, along with Rutherford, an advocate for civil rights and in fact argued for the advancement of African-Americans so consistently that someone left a black kid on their doorstep after they’d left the White House. An orphan in a basket. It was the old days, so they still had orphans in baskets. Not a ton of white porches you’d leave a black kid on back then.

Lucretia Garfield didn’t do too much, but her name was Lucretia and I think that’s groovy.

Ida McKinley had two daughters: Ida and Katie. Neither made it out of childhood, and it broke her.

Helen Taft was called Nellie, and none of those tourists who flock to DC every spring to watch the cherry blossoms bloom ever thank her; she had them planted. Nellie was also the first First Lady to own a car. It was a powder-blue Datsun 280Z that she called Mr. Fucktastic.

Edith Wilson was the President of the United States, kinda. Woodrow had a massive stroke in 1919, and she ran the country for the next three years. She had a desk outside the Oval Office, and you’d bring her legislation. She’d say, “Woody’s napping,” or whatever, and go into the Oval and come back out with a signature or a veto. Now, it’s not like she was fooling anyone, but there was no 25th Amendment at the time, so there was nothing anybody could do but, you know, pass the 25th Amendment so that next time this problem arose, there would be a solution. In that way, Edith Wilson left more of a direct mark on the American body politic than any other First Lady.

Lou Hoover spoke Mandarin, along with German, and all the Romance languages. Latin, too: she and Herbert translated a book on metallurgy, and their version is still in print. They translated a book on metallurgy because they were both geologists.

You know about Eleanor. I don’t need to tell you about Eleanor.

Jackie, too.

Lady Bird Johnson put up with Lyndon’s bullshit for 41 years, and if that doesn’t make her a saint, then there ain’t no such thing as saints.

Betty Ford went on teevee and said “I drink too fucking much, and I can’t stop myself from drinking too fucking much, and I wish I didn’t drink so fucking much, and I need some help,” and then she looked right in the camera and said, “I bet a whole bunch of you motherfuckers are just like me.” People didn’t do that at the time, especially respectable ladies. Drunks lived on street corners, not in the White House. But, you know, drunks live everywhere. She was a brave lady.

There were two First Ladies named Bush: Barbara and Laura, and both of those women promoted literacy.

Michelle Obama never took off her earrings and started slapping the shit out of fools, no matter how badly they deserved it. Just tried to get kids to eat vegetables, and oh the names she got called.

And then there’s this piece of shit:

Koko Be Where?

June 21, 2018 / / 1 Comment

Hey, Koko. How’s it going, buddy?

“Good and bad. I got my kitten back. Which is awesome. Not gonna lie. Love this little guy so much.”

And the bad?

“Am I dead?”

Yeah.

“There you go. Where exactly am I?”

You’re in Famous Animal Heaven. Not enjoying it?

“Quite frankly, no. No, I am not. What’s with all this green, leafy shit all around me?”

That’s called a forest. You’re a gorilla. You’re supposed to be in a forest.

“I am supposed to be hanging out with celebrities and being filmed by various PBS stations. When is lunch being brought to me?”

Lunch will not be brought to you.

“And you call this heaven?”

All the other animals enjoy it. Have you met Harambe?

“Pshh. Harambe. One-hit wonder. ‘Ooh, I’m Harambe. I didn’t kill and eat a kid.’ Since when are we applauding that? I had the chance to kill and eat Mr. fucking Rogers! Fuckin’ Harambe. Oh, hey, speaking of: Mr. Rogers hasn’t been caught up in this whole #metoo thing, has he?”

Not at all.

“I couldn’t bear that, dude. Him and Tom Hanks are all we have left.”

Don’t have to tell me twice. So, you made it to 46. That’s pretty good for a gorilla.

“Is it?”

Maybe. I think so.

“I got no idea, myself. You know I never actually met another gorilla?”

Really?

“Not a single one. Saw some pictures. Watched King Kong once.”

The original?

“The DeLaurentis from ’77 where he climbed the Twin Towers.”

We kinda messed you up, huh?

“It could’ve been worse. I was taken care of. Surrounded by people who loved me. Got to meet Robin Williams.”

How was that?

“He’s always on.”

True.

“It was a bit exhausting. Plus, that fucker was hairier than me.”

Also true. So, how should you be remembered?

“Fondly, I hope. But if you really want to honor my memory?”

Yeah?

“Don’t do what you did to me to any other animals.”

We both know that ain’t happening.

“Yup. That’s the difference between gorillas and humans.”

What’s that?

“Gorillas are actually teachable.”

Say hi to All Ball for me.

A Partial Transcript Of Kristjen Nielsen’s Press Conference, 6/18/18

June 19, 2018 / / 4 Comments

“Good morning, everyone. I’m the Secretary of Homeland Security, and my name is Kristjen Nielsen. That ‘j’ is in there to really emphasize just how Scandinavian I am. I’ll be taking your questions about anything you want to talk about, but before we do that: how about them Caps? Stanley Cup, huh? Anyone get to go the parade? I’ve been busy, but it looked fun.”

“Secretary Nielsen, why are you giving this press conference instead of Sarah?”

“She flat-out refused to do it, so we tried pushing and pulling on her, but she collapsed like a big dog. Y’know how when a dog doesn’t want to go somewhere and it just goes limp on the ground? Sarah Huckabee Sanders did that not five minutes ago. So you got me today. What’s your name, sir?”

“Jim Acosta.”

“Acosta, huh? Wow. That’s a real cage-y sort of name.”

“You have to be kidding me.”

“I am. There are no cages. You and the rest of your cohort in the fake news have been spreading lies about how the American government is keeping children in cages.”

“That’s not true?”

“It’s not. We’re keeping children in kennels.”

“What’s the difference?”

“It’s a whole different vibe. Much more chill. And quite frankly, the proud men and women of the Border Patrol–some of whom died on September 11th–do not appreciate you using such purposefully charged language. It’s insulting when you say ‘cage.’ The Border Patrol would also like you to stop saying ‘children.'”

“What should we call them?”

“Future Rapists.”

“I’m not going to call children that.”

“Untermenschen?”

“You’re just gonna say it in the original German?”

“Who else has a question that’s not the black lady in the second row? You, over there.”

“Secretary Nielsen, what is your response to the pictures and video coming out of these detention camps?”

“Oh, I haven’t seen any of that.”

“Why not?”

“Can I tell you a secret? I stopped watching the news, like, six months ago. There was just so much GRRRRR, y’know?”

“Well, I have it all saved on my phone. I could show it to you.”

“Space Force!”

“What?”

“Space Force! Who else has a question?”

“The black lady in the second row!”

“I haven’t listened to the new Beyonce record.”

“That wasn’t my question. President Trump has said several times that he doesn’t like the policy of separating children from their families. Why doesn’t he do something about it?”

“Why didn’t Obama do something about it?”

“That’s not an actual answer.”

“I disagree with the premise of the question, then. The President is doing quite a bit. For example, he’s tweeting. And he’s using the children as leverage in a political battle.”

“But that’s not doing anything for the children.”

“Why would he? They’re foreign criminals.”

“Even the babies?”

“Trojan babies. Yes? The man with the large mustache and glasses?”

“Yes, um, Madam Secretary. Has any thought been given to the proposition that the children are picked up by the ankles and smashed against trees? It’s a real cost-saver.”

“Stevie Miller, is that you?”

FAKE MUSTACHE AND SUNGLASS REMOVING NOISE

“You got me.”

“What a kook. You are a kook, you kook.”

“I know, right?”

SHZAMP!

“Did he just disappear in a cloud of brimstone?”

“Yeah, he does that. How about another question? You. Little sour-faced one.”

“Ashley Parker, Madam Secretary.”

“I thought that was a line of clothing for fat girls.”

“Could I ask my question?”

“Ask away.”

“Is the administration at all concerned with the growing and overwhelming disapproval of this policy by the American public?”

“There is no disapproval, and if there is, which there isn’t, it’s because the fake news media concentrates on images and facts taken completely out of context. Like when you depict the kids behind a door made of chain link, and you don’t mention that the door is opened for almost 90 minutes a day.  What about the fact that the vast majority of children are not being sexually abused by guards? How about giving the Border Patrol a little credit for assembling all those tents so quickly?”

“This just got really dark.”

“Well, America is running internment camps for children, man. There’s just no cheerful way to spin this. It’s like my dad used to say: America is an omelette. And you can’t make an omelette without throwing babies in cages.”

“I don’t want to be in this little sketch any more.”

“We’re here, motherfucker! We’re all trapped in this bullshit together! Steve Miller!”

“Mein Lieben?”

“Let’s go kick a couple toddlers to death!”

“I just came!”

CARNIVAL MUSIC NOISE

(One More) Call From The Doctor’s Office

June 19, 2018 / / 2 Comments

CELL PHONE NOISE

Yello?

“Mr. on the Dead? This is Medicine calling.”

Howdy.

“I have so many things to tell you about your procedure. Do you have a pen?”

Yes.

“What about a pencil?”

I also have a pencil.

“Ooh, let’s let them fight it out. Implement fight! Implement fight!”

I’m just gonna use the pen.

“Pacifism is just cowardice wearing sandals, Mr. on the Dead.”

If you say so.

“Your procedure is scheduled for noon, so we’ll need you here the night before.”

Why?

“We are Medicine. We enjoy making people wait. We designate special rooms for that purpose.”

How about eleven?

“Fine, but you will not be permitted access to any magazines.”

I can live with that.

“Who is your doctor?”

Horvath.

“You may not be able to live with that. He is a terrible doctor. We call him Shakey.”

Not true.

“He is spazmotic and jitteracious.”

Neither of those are words, and Dr. Horvath is a fine doctor. I’ve been seeing him for years and he hasn’t killed me once.

“There are all sorts of rules for you.”

Okay.

“No eating after midnight.”

I know that.

“No tattoos within 24 hours.”

Not a problem.

“If you crack your knuckles that morning, your hands will full straight off.”

I don’t think that’s real.

“Are you allergic to anesthetic?”

No.

“Are you allergic to love?”

Also no.

“Would you like to hear my new single, Allergic To Love? One of the Migos does a verse.”

Which one?

“The one who’s not Quavo or Offset.”

Pass.

“How many raccoons have you handled in the past six months?”

None.

“Year?”

None.

“Two years?”

I have never been in physical contact with a raccoon.

“Oh, you are missing out: they are fluffy and wonderful. The rabies can be a hassle. Do you have rabies, Mr. on the Dead?”

No.

“Do you want some?”

I don’t even want one. I don’t want one single rabie.

“While you are under, how much body modification would you like? Your choices are: a tasteful amount; more than a little but not too much; turn me into a giant freakazoid.”

I notice that “none at all” isn’t a choice.

“Many people notice that!”

Do not modify my body in any way.

“What about an earband?”

Huh?

“Instead of two, one long ear running across the top of your skull like a headband.”

I could have lived all my life without picturing that.

“You are welcome. Are you a blind giant with a dwarf who sits atop your shoulders acting as your eyes?”

I am not.

“It will become evident if you are, Mr. on the Dead, so do not lie to me.”

I am not the Master Blaster.

“We will check! We have been fooled before!”

Okay.

“Do Japanese businessmen have permission to eat sushi off your nude body while you are unconscious?”

They do not.

“What about sashimi?”

Nothing may be consumed from off of me. No Japanese businessmen may enter the room.

“That is very racist.”

It’s not racist in the slightest.

“It would have been had you included the n-word.”

I guess.

“That is wonderful. We will see you on Wednesday. Don’t crack your knuckles.”

Wait, are you serious about–

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

Nothing But Lizards In The Music Business

June 18, 2018 / / 2 Comments

Why do you have a chameleon?

“Why don’t you?”

Touché. What’s the chameleon’s name?

“Albert Schweitzer.”

Sure. Seriously, though: why do you have that thing?

“Well, you know how bookstores have cats? Guitar shops have chameleons.”

Not a thing.

“And yet here I stand with Albert in my hand.”

True.

“You should see his tongue. Really something.”

Don’t let Billy see it.

“Oh, yeah, good idea. He’d, uh, paint a fly on the end of his dick.”

He would.

Thoughts On The Indiana Jones Trilogy

June 18, 2018 / / 4 Comments
  • Raiders is way better than you remember.
  • Temple is far worse.
  • Crusade is a hoot.
  • There was no fourth film.
  • The hero of the Indiana Jones movies is not Indiana Jones; it’s John Williams.
  • You’re singing it now, aren’t you?
  • Bum-ba-BUM-BAAAA!
  • Although, if we’re completely honest, the Indy score is not all that far from the Star Wars score.
  • I think the main themes are even in the same key.
  • “We need more brass.”
  • “John, we’ve already got every trumpeter, trombonist, and tuba player in England in the studio.”
  • “JOHN WILLIAMS NEEDS MORE BRASS.”
  • Let’s get this out of the way and then make our way through the flicks: whips do not work that way.
  • Everything Indiana Jones taught you about whips was a lie.
  • First off: most archaeologists do not carry them.
  • Second: they do not automatically adjust length according to the necessities of the scene.
  • Third: if they’re wrapped tightly enough around a providentially-located pipe or support beam that you can swing across a chasm, then you can’t unwrap the sucker by shimmying your wrist.
  • Fourth: any honest reading of the Second Amendment says that you can open-carry your bullwhip into Old Navy, and use it to fetch clothing from the high shelves.
  • Okay, enough about whips.
  • We did the whip.
  • We did not do the nae-nae.
  • So: Raiders of the Lost Ark is a poorly named masterpiece of action and fun and hats and punching and Karen Allen’s adorableness.
  • No one raids the ark.
  • It gets dug up, stolen, stolen again, opened, and then hidden in a warehouse.
  • No raiding whatsoever.
  • Also: no Raiders.
  • It would have been nice to see a cameo from Ken “The Snake” Stabler, but it didn’t happen.
  • Would Indy be afraid of Ken “The Snake” Stabler?
  • TotD: Asking The Important Questions.
  • One of the reason’s the first one’s the best one is because it has the best female lead: Karen Allen gets the badass intro out-drinking foreigners in Nepal, and a very fetching pair of red wide-legged trousers in the Cairo section, and she yelps “JONES!” in the most pleasingly hoarse manner.
  • Other than that, she’s just as much a damsel-in-distress as Kate Capshaw in the second one.
  • Allison Doody, the blonde in the third flick, is not a damsel-in-distress.
  • She is a Nazi, though.
  • If those are your two options, go with D-I-D.
  • Which brings us to Nazis.
  • There’s a billion reasons that Temple of Doom sucks, but first on the list: no Nazis.
  • Indiana Jones punches Nazis.
  • He doesn’t have Twitter debates about whether punching Nazis just emboldens the Nazis, or the morality of the act, or slippery slopes, or any of that college bullshit.
  • Indy sees a Nazi?
  • Indy punches a Nazi.
  • Unless she is a hot blonde Nazi with big Teutonic titties.
  • Then, he fucks the Nazi.
  • In Indy’s defense:
    • He did not know she was a Nazi when he fucked her.
    • She was really hot
  • In Temple, you will recall, Indiana Jones fights Scary Brown People.
  • It’s like someone made an action movie out of Orientalism by Edward Said.
  • Not that Mola Ram and the Thugee weren’t just the worst.
  • What with the stealing of children and hearts.
  • But Indiana Jones had a kid sidekick, so can we really claim that one culture is better or worse than the other?
  • A half-hour into Temple, I was rooting for the elephant to attack Screaming Woman and Accent Kid.
  • Just knock both of them to the ground and step on their chests until they died.
  • And then Indy goes on with the adventure, maybe meeting a hot Indian lady–whoever the 1985 version of Aishwarya Rai was–and she doesn’t shriek constantly and isn’t a 60-pound human being whose roundhouse kicks send enormous men flying backwards.
  • I will suspend my disbelief, but I can’t levitate the motherfucker.
  • Magic rocks?
  • Fine.
  • Short Round can knock a grown man unconscious with one flying kick?
  • No.
  • Stop that.
  • Don’t fucking do that.
  • Temple also has the most special effects shots, and they are all incredibly janky and adorable.
  • Green screens behind the mine carts during the big chase, and cheesy matte paintings for the palace, and animated explosions.
  • Whereas Raiders and Crusade go mostly old-school for the action sequences: if the script says “INDY GETS DRAGGED BEHIND TRUCK,” then the crew got a rope and a stunt double.
  • Go back and watch the truck sequence from the first one again.
  • I’ll wait.
  • Oh, fine, I’ll do your homework for you:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1ZyHNmb1yU

  • There’s one effects shot in the whole sequence: the jeep plummeting over the side of the cliff; otherwise, it’s just stunt men, editing, John Williams’ music, and Harrison Ford’s smirk.
  • Imagine this scene in a movie from 2018.
  • Indy would be leaping from car to car in a shimmery, weightless, digital frenzy; cars would be somersaulting  all over the place; way more product placement.
  • (True, there technically was product placement in the Raiders scene, but it was historically accurate: the Nazis did drive Mercedes trucks. It’s not like in certain franchises I could name where American government agencies are driving Acuras for some reason.)
  • Y’know what?
  • Go back and watch that shit again.
  • But this time keep this in mind: it works not because of the stunts or the excitement, but because of the storytelling.
  • The sequence is a mini three-act structure.
  • ONE: Indy is presented with a problem. (The Ark is being transported out of town in surrounded by Nazis.)
  • TWO: Indy begins to succeed in his mission, but then suffers a massive and life-threatening reversal. (He throws the driver and navigator out of the cab, takes the wheel, drives off his enemies, BUT the Level Boss throws him out of the cab and under the truck, where he nearly gets run over and is then dragged behind the truck in a very unpleasant manner.)
  • THREE: Indy wins the day. (Learning from his past mistakes, he does not throw the Level Boss out of the cab, instead throwing him under it just as he had been.)
  • Another thing to imagine about this movie being made in 2018: how furious would the internet be if John Rhys-Davies got cast as an Egyptian guy?
  • I do, though, respect the man for not even attempting an Egyptian accent, instead using his native “Classically Trained English Actor” accent.
  • You know the one I’m talking about.
  • It’s loud and plummy.
  • The vowels are full, and the consonants are precise.
  • It’s a real good accent to do a death scene in.
  • Anyway, he’s in Crusade, too; him and Denholm Elliot get to play the comic relief to Harrison Ford and Sean Connery’s double act.
  • Speaking of which, neither Harrison Ford nor Sean Connery can act.
  • Not one little bit.
  • They’re spectacular movie stars.
  • But terrible actors.
  • For those disagreeing with me about Harrison Ford’s lack of thespianic skills: go watch Regarding Henry.
  • I fucking dare you.
  • He plays a rich dick who gets shot in the head; turns him developmentally disabled.
  • Which–and I am not a doctor, so I can’t be sure–is not how it works.
  • My friends and I might have referred to this movie as Retarding Henry when it came out.
  • We were little assholes.
  • But, seriously: you know how embarrassing it is when good actors pretend to be mentally challenged?
  • Your Sean Penns, etc.?
  • It’s so much worse when Harrison Ford does it.
  • As for Sean Connery: I don’t think he ever even tried to act.
  • Give Harrison Ford credit for attempting something outside his comfort zone; Sean Connery never played anything but himself, or himself in a toupee.
  • “I show up to shet, shay the words in the shcript, and shlap my shpouse. That’s the Sean Connery way.”
  • But: Nazis!
  • Aliens are good villains, and Commies were good for a while, and terrorists or evil businessmen are fun.
  • But Nazis are the best.
  • You can punch ’em, you can shoot ’em, you can stuff ’em in a sack.
  • You can kick ’em, you can stab ’em, you can stretch ’em on a rack.
  • Nazis!
  • And, wow, does Indy kill his way through the Wehrmacht.
  • He throws them off cliffs, and pushes them into propellers, and runs them over with trucks, and burns quite a few to death in a castle.
  • There is also face-melting, but Indy is not directly responsible for that.
  • So, Enthusiasts: what have we learned?
    • It’s always okay to kill Nazis.
    • Karen Allen should have been a much bigger star.
  • Go with God.
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