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

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2/17/82: An FAQ

What’s so special about 2/17/82 from the Warfield Theater in San Francisco?

Oh, it’s a magical show. People don’t know this, but 2/17/82 from the Warfield is actually 5/8/77 from Cornell. Many books have been written about this show.

That doesn’t make any sense.

Rock and roll, huh?

No, I mean it’s not true. 

It’s not. I made it up to entertain myself.

Well, can you tell the Enthusiasts why you’re recommending the show?

Great Minglewood. Big, big, big Sugaree. A rare and fun On The Road Again. And more.

You’re only at the third song, aren’t you?

Yes. I can only imagine the rest of the show goes wonderfully, though. You know: for 1982.

Is there anything unusual or notable about the show?

Warfield, bro.

Right. Where the Dead played their West Coast residency in 1980. Is this perhaps the first time they returned?

Nah. Played there in ’81.

Is it the last time they played the venue?

Nope. Hit it in ’83, too.

You just picked this show at random, didn’t you?

Yes, I did.

You’re a tremendous disappointment.

I’M TREMENDOUS.

Asshole.

WAIT.

What?

The Bird Song is tasty.

Is the Bird Song the song right after On The Road Again?

Yup.

Asshole.

Mayer And Son

You’re just gonna take that?

“Take what?”

The kid’s dominating you.

“He’s not.”

He’s looming over you like Batman standing over a piss trough.

“Weird analogy.”

You’re the piss trough.

“I got it, but it’s still unpleasant.”

Why are you seated?

“Want to.”

Uh-huh. Trick knee acting up?

“I don’t have a trick knee.”

It gets all achy when it rains. It’s okay, Josh.

“Don’t call me that.”

Sir?

“DON’T CALL ME…I see what you’re doing, and it’s not right. I’m not old.”

41 in a few months. How’s your bird?

“My what?”

Your tool. Your schvantz. Your pecker.

“It’s fine. He’s great.”

Can you still hang a towel off your boner?

“I haven’t tried in a while.”

DON’T YOU LIE TO ME, FUCKER.

“It stays on if I keep my butt clenched up.”

Yeah, see, that’s the first sign. Bird loses its feathers.

“Dude, don’t worry about me. I’m still young, I’m still hot, I’m still banging pop stars.”

Who now?

“Camilla Cabello. Very sexy.”

How old is she?

“She’s very mature.”

Uh-huh. Lemme ask you something.

“Shoot.”

Does she remember Aretha Franklin?

“I’m sure she’s aware of Aretha.”

Can you dance together?

“I see what you’re doing.”

Can you talk at all?

“Stop it.”

Dude, you’re literally a Steely Dan song. I don’t know any surer sign that a white man is getting older than becoming a Steely Dan lyric. Maybe becoming a Paul Simon lyric.

“None of what you’re saying is true. I’m content with my age, and I am as young as ever. I appeal to the youth market.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“What!? What did I say?”

Nothing. I just wanna wrap this up.

“Asshole.”

“The very young John Mayer.”

“One month, Hot Dog Dick!”

“Goddammit.”

“Whole world come to Only Korea. Watch Kim Jong-Un dunk balls in Kim Jong Don’s ass-mouth.”

“I don’t think the meeting’s gonna happen. Wait. ‘Kim Jong-Don?'”

“Is new rule. Everyone named Kim Jong now. You should be Kim Jong-Little Potato, but I let you slide because we bros.”

“Thank you.”

“Call you Hot Dog Dick”

“Y’know, maybe I’ll start making up nicknames for you.”

“Huh. Okay. And maybe someone throw radioactive acid in your face next time you in airport.”

“Kim Jong-Un it is.”

“You like hat?”

“Eh.”

“Is no fedora. Is trilby.”

“I know.”

“People get wrong. Look sexy with hat. Chicks dig. You come to summit in June. We do like you and Chapelle.”

“What?”

“During meeting. You bring guitar. Jam while talk. Respond to conversation with musical emphases.”

“No.”

“Father invent Dave Chapelle.”

“He didn’t. I have to go.”

“Hot Dog Dick, why you no tell me you have twink?”

“He’s not my twink. He’s my friend.”

“You should fuck. Kim Jong Un not gay, but Kim Jong Un would destroy.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“He no walk right after me.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE

“I officially want out of this website.”

Fuck, no. Summer tour’s coming up. If anything, your part will be expanding.”

“Goddammit.”

The Marryin’ Kind

Hey, Garcia. Whatcha doing?

“Getting married, man.”

You love doing that.

“It’s the cake.”

You can just buy cake.

“Doesn’t taste the same, y’know? Wedding cake is, like, earned cake. Whole different vibe to it.”

What was this one’s name?

“Phyllis Hungamunga.”

I don’t think so.

“The Outrageous Gladys.”

Jesus, it’s like talking to Bobby.

“Hey, man, take that back.”

Sorry. Between you and me?

“Hit me.”

She is so far out of your league.

“Good thing I learned to play guitar, huh?”

Damn straight.

Not Quite The Royal Wedding

This was 9/15/76, and the Duchess was a real boat, not some poorly-named North Shore bar. The New York branch of the Hells Angels–friends of the Dead since the ’72 Academy of Music benefit–threw a party in a location they knew could not be raided by the cops. It wasn’t a dinghy, either. Check this fucker out:

Did you check that fucker out? (The Duchess used to be called the Bay Belle. Ships can change names. For example, in the 60’s the SS Lew Alcindor changed its name to the SS Mohammad Ali.) A boat’s officially big when it’s required to have other, smaller boats hanging off the sides. (One day, Carnival Cruises will build a ship so large that its lifeboats are so big that they themselves need lifeboats.) They didn’t go much of anywhere–just circled Manhattan a couple times–but Jerry Band played, so it was probably worth putting on your floaties. (This was the version of Jerry Band with John Kahn in it, just in case you’re a stats nerd.) But why listen to me? Read about the show from someone who was there.

Or just watch it.

Whatever floats your boat.

Reasons The 5/21/74 Playing Needed To Be 46 Minutes Long

  • Inflation.
  • The guys over at Gary’s Olde Towne Tavern dared them.
  • Too many drugs.
  • Not enough drugs.
  • Time Sheath-related shenanigans.
  • Forgot the ending.
  • Billy was especially dick-punchy that night, so to protect their dicks, the Boys just kept on jamming.
  • Because a 50-minute Playing would be overkill.
  • Bomb attached to stage set to go off if they jammed below 55 mph.
  • Keith had to go to the bathroom and everyone else was being an asshole.
  • They ordered the Peking Duck, and everyone knows it takes at least 45 minutes for the Peking Duck, which is why you should call ahead, but the Dead did not call ahead and now they are killing time waiting for their Peking Duck by doodling around for almost an hour.
  • There were just too many notes in the guitars that night, I guess.
  • The Man said not to, and the Dead was like, “Fuck The Man,” so they did.
  • Nothing good on teevee.

In Which Billy Learns A New Word

“Hey, Ass! Where’s Fucky?”

Fucky?

“Ding Dong Doodle.”

Who?

“Mister Clothes.”

Oh, Josh. I have no idea. Has he still not shown up for rehearsal?

“Nah, and my accountant’s getting worried.”

Not you, though?

“Nah, fuck him. But he’s gotta be here for us to get paid. It’s in the contract.”

You read the contract?

“I shoved it in a chick that works at a Dollar Store. Same thing, legally.”

I’m not a lawyer, so I can’t refute that.

“Seriously, where is the kid? At least when we used to go missing, we had good reasons.”

Such as?

“Rehab. Jail. Had a fight with the keyboardist and got on a plane 15 minutes before the show started.”

Right.

“What’s he doing?”

Twinks, I think.

“Twinks? Is that like Fortnite?”

No. They’re kinda like skank. But with dicks.

“Hey, some skank has dicks. They should tell you upfront, but they don’t. Some guys freak out, but not me.”

Because you’re open-minded?

“Shit, no. Because I flip ’em over and do my work in the backyard.”

Always a pleasure, Billy.

“I’M DRUMMING!”

You, too, Mick.

John, Gayer

What are you doing?

“I now have a ward.”

Oh, come on. Don’t Robin anyone.

“Too late. Threw his parents off a trapeze and now he’s mine. That’s how it works.”

It isn’t. Who is this?

“Shawn Mendes. You should check out some of his music.”

I won’t. Is he, like, your Mini-Me?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He looks like you, but younger.

“I’m still young.”

For a tree. Or a tortoise. Or a Highlander. You’re practically a baby by Highlander standards. But for a person? Nah. Solidly middle-aged.

“Dude, ripped jeans.”

So?

“That means young! Look at the vitality pouring through the holes! ‘Hey, look at that guy with the ripped jeans. I bet he doesn’t follow rules.’ That’s me.”

Did they tear on their own?

“Shit, no. I have a guy.”

You have a guy just to distress your trousers?

“You don’t?”

Josh, you can tell me: are you having an Age of Twinks?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Really?

“Absolutely.”

“I can explain.”

Go ahead.

“It’s not gay if the guy is pretty like a girl.”

That’s not how it works.

“It’s not gay if you’re a better bowler than he is.”

That makes no sense.

“It’s not gay if they’re British.”

Okay, that’s true.

“Dude, you don’t understand what it’s like to be me. Can I confess something to you?”

Sure.

“I’m tired of the puss.”

You’re tired of the puss?

“The puss is passe.”

Passe puss?

“2018 is all about the sack.”

Not the dong?

“Maybe if you’re in Tulsa. In LA and New York? Those are Sack Cities, brother.”

What the hell can you do with a sack?

“What can’t you do? I like to press sack against the funny pages and read Beetle Bailey off my nuts.”

You’re talking about Silly Putty.

“Da. Talk is silly.”

“Ah, shit.”

“Putin hears you have changed lifestyles.”

“I’m exploring my options and sexuality in this new and free world.”

“Da. Come dance for Putin.”

“What? No.”

“Shake it, Little Potato. Shake for Daddy.”

“Do not call yourself that.”

“You vill be oligarch of my dong.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Putin vill buy his tvink many shiny objects. Tvinks love shiny.”

“I don’t want any…what did you call me?”

“Tvink. You are very young compared to Putin.”

“Hey, there.”

Dude! You are so fucking needy.

“He called me young!”

Compared to. He said you were young compared to. Literally the same thing I said.

“You didn’t offer to buy me anything.”

Do what you want.

A Terrible Poem About Instagram Hotties

They told us it was the Age of the Twinks
They should have warned us about the
Instagram Hotties

O God they’re everywhere
(If “everywhere” is Tulum
Miami
Bali
And Tokyo.
Tokyo is so kawaii.)
And they can run us down
With their superior cardio.

Don’t hit Like.
They can’t see you if you don’t hit Like.
I think one’s looking at me
Back over her shoulder.

Coachella fell first
Even Beyoncé was powerless against their tooth-whitening kits
Then went Ultra
There was blood on the dance floor
At the Electric Daisy Carnival
Avicii–SO YOUNG!

They all seem somehow Australian.

Back off, Hottie.
I’ll call your Mother Agent.

Donald Trump Junior’s Attorney Is Beginning To Regret Taking The Gig

“Junior–”

“Dude, chill. I’m playing Fortnite.”

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Do you play? What’s your screen name? Mine’s Businessman69. Because I’m a businessman. And, you know, because 69.”

“Uh-huh. Are you talking to other players on your little microphone?”

“Gotta, dude! Talking shit is, like, half the game. I talk such good shit. Sometimes, I call people fags. A lot of the time, I just scream NI–”

“Junior! Are you talking to randos in a video game about legal matters?”

“Only to people who say they’re lawyers. I’m not an idiot.”

“No, you’d have to get smarter to be an idiot. You need to stop playing that game.”

“Stop streaming on Twitch, or stop altogether?”

“You’re streaming on Twitch?”

“Me and Ninja did some team-play the other day. Broke a million viewers, bro.”

“Stop it. Stop everything you’re doing.”

“What about my vlog?”

“You vlog? About what?”

“My feelings. And I react to movie trailers.”

“I need you to get off the internet.”

“But when I call people ‘cucks’ in real life, they laugh at me!”

“Off the internet! Now, Junior, we need to talk about this new meeting that you neglected to tell me about.”

“Which one?”

Well, first we’re going to discuss the meeting between you, the child molester who’s buddies with the Saudi princes, the guy with his own private army, and someone who was almost certainly an Israeli spy.”

“Oh, that meeting.”

“Yes. Can you tell me what happened in the meeting?”

“I’ll try. I think the Saudi guy was all like, ‘Oh, dude, the princes love your dad so much, he’s so awesome and powerful and we hate Hillary because she kills hitchhikers, and we want your dad to win and if he does we’ll give him an orb.’ I remember they said the thing about the orb because I didn’t know what an ‘orb’ was.”

“Okay.”

“Still don’t, as a matter of fact. Never looked it up.”

“Back to the meeting.”

“And whathisface, the army guy, he’s all, ‘I wanna help you crush the…crush the…’ Who do the Saudis want to crush? Sounds like ‘Bimini.'”

“The Yemenis.”

“Sounds right. I was pretty sure the Saudis didn’t have a problem with Bimini.”

“No one has a problem with Bimini.”

“I do. I got chlamydia there.”

“Focus, Junior. What about the Israeli guy?”

“Very hairy. Like, his shirt could not contain it. Came curling around his cuffs and through the buttonholes and everything.”

“What did he say?”

“He was like a hacker dude. He said he was the King of Twitter, and I was like, ‘Pssh. That’s my dad.’ And the guy was like, ‘Oh, yeah. You’re right. Besides your dad. We love your dad so much, he’s so awesome and powerful.'”

“And you didn’t think it was weird that Israel and Saudi Arabia shared an opinion?”

“Nah. Those guys have a love-hate thing going on.”

“Nope.”

“What did you say about a child molester?”

“George Nader. The guy who was representing the Saudis? Caught with child porn a bunch of times.”

“Huh. Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Girls or boys?”

“I’m not having this discussion.”

“I just wanna know how bad it was.”

“We’re moving on and I’m making a mental note to donate heavily to the first charity I find after you leave my office.”

“The Trump Foundation is legally a charity.”

“Have there been any other meetings you’re not telling me about?”

“I do not recall.”

“That’s what you say on the stand, not in here.”

“Oh, right. I forgot. Um, yes? I guess so.”

“Great. Let’s start with the foreign nationals.”

“The Nationals are from Washington.”

“Not the baseball team. I mean people from other countries. How many meetings did you have with people from other countries?”

“A bunch, I guess. We met some Venezuelans.”

“What happened there?”

“They stole all the bagels and left.”

“Sounds right.”

“I met some black guys.”

“Do you remember what country they were from?”

“I wanna say Wakanda.”

“They were not from Wakanda.”

“Zmunda?”

“Similarly fictional.”

“Rhodesia.”

“Defunct and problematic. Let’s just move on. Did you meet with any Chinese?”

“Delivery guy count?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, wait, yeah. I had a bunch of meetings with the Chinese. Do you know they build a city every 35 minutes in China?”

“Yes.”

“They offered us one. Like, the Trump Organization would brand it.”

“And what did they want in return?”

“Nothing! They were just being generous.”

“Yeah, that’s what they’re known for.”

“We did discuss ripping up the Interstate system and having them replace it all with toll-roads.”

“There you go. Was anything actually exchanged at these meetings?”

“No.”

“I mean, they brought envelopes of cash, but those were gifts.”

“I quit.”

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