Thoughts On The Dead

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

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On The Limits Of Tolerance

March 24, 2017 / / 4 Comments

Are all viewpoints acceptable?

To believe? Yes. You can believe whatever you want.

What about to espouse?

No. A community, city, society has the right to define the acceptable parameters of public discourse.

So some viewpoints are unacceptable?

The practice of said viewpoints. Feel free to believe you’re a dracula. Swoop around in a cape all day–

All night.

…

Yeah, I guess that guy would swoop around at night. Anyway: you can think yourself possessed by the Curse of the Whampyr all you want, but when you start breaking into virgins’ bedrooms and chomping on necks, then the authorities need to become involved.

You’re a typical liberal fascist Nazi thug.

I’m not typical.

So much for the tolerant left.

Ah. Can I ask you what you do for a living?

I’m a chef.

How lucky for me, as I have an elaborate metaphor that requires you be one.

What a coincidence.

Bigly. Now, what kind of food do you cook?

Oh, I cook it all. Tex. Mex. Steak. Cake. Whatever, man, I actually pride myself on using every ingredient I can find. I search for different flavors and textures all over the world, and I’ll try just about anything.

Anything?

Anything! Common food, or really exotic stuff. It’s all welcome in my pot!

Rutabaga?

Hell, yeah.

Sheep face?

Sure.

The spiciest chili pepper in the world?

Bring it on!

Bleach?

What?

Bleach. The liquid with the bleaching properties.

I know what bleach is, and if I didn’t, your definition wouldn’t have helped at all.

I’m not helpful. Bleach?

Of course I wouldn’t cook with bleach.

Just a little bit.

None at all. Just a little bit would ruin all the food.

A shit-stained pillowcase from a sex club for couples in Harrisburg, PA.

Wow, no.

I thought you said everything was welcome in your pot.

These things are not food. Putting them in the pot would destroy everything.

You’re right. Sorry. What about White Supremacy?

That’s a concept.

More of an ethos.

What’s the difference?

A concept is an idea at the beginning of its life. White Supremacy has been well and truly thought out. You might even call it a viewpoint.

I see what you’re doing, but the fact remains that you can’t put an abstraction into a cooking pot.

If you could, though. Like, if you were making some bibambap.

Love that ‘bap.

Just about everything on the planet gets thrown in there. If you could, would you add White Supremacy?

I would not.

People are free to believe whatever they want, and society is free to disallow its pot from being poisoned.

Good thing I was a chef.

It really worked out perfectly.

The Daily Recounting 3/23/17

March 24, 2017 / / 1 Comment

The vote’s not going their way, Enthusiasts, and Paul Ryan and the rest of those ferret-faced babyeaters will wait patiently in line to blame the White House on teevee and the would-be king from Queens is going to pull out his cell phone–actually, Bannon will probably hand it to him, giggling and burping all the while–and Trump is going to his standby: weaponized tweets.

(Although in his defense–and it pains me to defend anything about him–they worked up until very recently. As he said in a recent Time interview, “I’m President, and you’re not.” That is a true statement, in the sense that Jeffrey Dahmer telling people he was going to eat them was a true statement.)

So, in lieu of the usual Recounting, TotD presents Possible Topics Of The Post-Healthcare Vote Tweetstorm:

  • Paul Ryan. (“Cryin’ Ryan is a failure! Couldn’t repeal Obamacare now PEOPLE WILL DIE! Paul Ryan: murderer? #steveking4speaker”)
  • Ivanka. (“Fake News says very smart Ivanka doesn’t deserve WH office. I AM PRESIDNET AND I DECIDE! Ivanka has a great office!”)
  • Congress. (“So-called Congress can’t pass bills! I will issue an EO repealing the terrible Obamacare very soon!”)
  • Obama. (“Muslim Ban judge met with Obama before terrible decision! Was there a payoff?”)
  • Canada. (“C2C w/Art Bell just reported Justin Trudeau ‘wiretapped’ Mar-A-Lago with the help of the Israelis. Sad and sick if true!”)
  • Arnold Schwarzenegger. (“I’m PRESIDNET and he is not! I have informed the IRS to look into Arnold. Let’s see what we find!”)
  • Burger King. (“Fries taste different! Change fries back or I will hold campaign rallies at McDonald’s!”)
  • Rosie O’Donnell. (“People think I have forgotten about Disgusting Rosie BUT I HAVE NOT. Still very fat and no career.”)
  • Paul Manafort. (“Fake News CNN keeps saying I knew Paul Manafort. I have never met Paul Manafort. Such dishonesty!”)
  • Freedom Caucus. (“Freedom Caucus wants to destroy America! Are they traitors? I am going to tapp their offices!”)
  • London. (“London elects Muslim mayor, then there’s a terror attack? Just common sense!”)

An Open Letter To A Dude In 1979

March 23, 2017 / / 3 Comments

Dear Dude On The Dusborne Matrix Of 11/30/79 During Drums.

Stop yelling “sit down.” You are more annoying to me than the people standing up are to you. Stop that right now in 1979.

Sincerely,
Thoughts on the Dead

p.s. Great show, and besides for the bros being all bro about things, it is a treat for two reasons. First of all: the Dead perform their music well. (Sometimes they did not, so this fact should be mentioned. The Dead always meant to play well–I’m not accusing them of malfeasance–but once in a while, they did not achieve strong bone. It happens. Stanley Theater in ’79? Strong bone.) Second: the first set’s the first set, no real weirdness, but then the second set is the most front-loaded one I’ve ever seen.

Look at this bullshit:

Set 2:
Scarlet Begonias
Fire On The Mountain
Passenger
Terrapin Station
Playin’ In The Band
Drums
Lost Sailor
Saint Of Circumstance
Wharf Rat
Good Lovin’

That is a top-heavy list; if it wasn’t buttressed within the pull quote, it would topple.

Whatever: go listen to the Grateful Dead; turn it up loud, too.

The Team-Up No One Saw Coming

March 23, 2017 / / 0 Comments

“Putin have confession, Valrus Jesus.”

“Yes, my son?”

“Am on bit of murder bender. Is getting out of control.”

“How many people have you murdered, my son?”

“Today?”

“Let’s start there.”

“Two? Three. Da, three.”

“This is not good, my–”

“Four. Forgot one. Minor enemy. Putin have him thrown onto helicopter.”

“You mean out of a helicopter.”

“Nyet. Onto rotor.”

“Wow.”

“Running out of vays to kill political opponents. Do valrus eat people?”

“Even if walruses did–and we don’t–I am Walrus Jesus.”

“Putin just asking.”

“Putin is pushing it. Wanna toss me some clams and mollusks?”

…

“Oooooh, that’s good bivalve!”

“You want something else? Putin get vhatever you vant.”

“I’m on a pretty strict diet.”

“You do nyet need to lose veight.”

“Oh, not that. I’m not really an omnivore. Pretty much set up to only eat one thing.”

“Da. Forgive me now, Valrus Jesus.”

“Do you repent of your sins?”

“Da, sure, vhy not?”

“I heard a real insincere tone there.”

“Nyet, nyet. Putin very sorry. Shame on Putin. Cry now. Boo hoo, boo hoo.”

“You’re just saying ‘boo hoo.'”

“Forgive me, Valrus Jesus.”

“You’re squeezing my flipper very hard.”

“Forgive me now please, Valrus Jesus.”

“I forgive you!”

“Spaceeba. I come back tomorrow. You forgive me for more murders. Big ones coming up.”

“Oh, um, I was planning on going back out to sea.”

“Nyet. You are Putin’s guest. Is nice here. You stay.”

“What!? I’m calling my lawyer?”

“Da? Okay, sure. Excuse Putin.”

“Putin need you to assassinate Walrus Jesus, Mischka.”

“I told you I’m retired.”

“Vun last job.”

What Can Be Accomplished In Less Than Seven Years?

March 23, 2017 / / 1 Comment
  • Nine non-twin babies, which is an entire baseball team as long as you’re in a National League city.
  • Circumnavigating the world in a wooden sailboat with 16th century maps and technology. (Twice, with ten months left over.)
  • Construction of the Twin Towers AND the Freedom Tower. (Just barely.)
  • Ulysses.
  • You can put a man on the moon in seven years: JFK told the crowd at Rice University that we chose to go to the moon in September of ’62, and Neil Armstrong told the world that the Eagle had landed in July of ’69.
  • Given seven years of study, a human of reasonable intelligence could become an expert in virtually any field.
  • A French guy named Michel Lotito could eat three-and-a-half Cessna 150 airplanes.
  • Assuming you didn’t get eaten, you could swim from San Francisco to Tokyo and back eight times.
  • Witness the birth and death of 2,557 generations of fruit flies. (Hopefully, there would be some sort of science involved and you’re not just sitting there watching fruit flies fuck and die like some sort of weirdo.)
  • The creation of a capital city of a major country. (Brasilia. It was a planned city, and it took four years to build. 2.7 million people live there.)

Or, you know: you could come up with a replacement health care plan.

Went To See The Captain, Nakedest I Could Find

March 23, 2017 / / 4 Comments

Did someone steal your face?

“It’s under the bandana and goggles.”

Did you shush me in Chicago?

“I would have but no.”

Those shorts should be called lows.

“I’m proud of my pudenda.”

Is the hermit the holiest, or can man among men achieve peace?

“The lure of disconnection, the song of solitude’s sirens.”

Yes.

“To be a lonely penitent. To sit in solemn silence thinking thoughts of love and kindness?”

Sure.

“So fuck off to a monastery.”

They get up very early.

“I guess it’s the madding crowd for you, then.”

What is security?

“Caring for nothing. Vulnerability exists at points of attachment.”

Should I still lock the door?

“You should still lock the door.”

Are you playing flag football?

“Yes.”

Awesome. Can I play?

“Sure, lemme ask my boyfriend, who is a moose.”

Wait.

I thought you were dating the fire lady.

“DOMINANT MALE, BABY! I GETS MY FUCK ON!”

Yeah, I was right. This bit is not coming back.

The Daily Recounting 3/22/17

March 23, 2017 / / 3 Comments

One hopes for the best. One perseveres. One re-evaluates constantly. One is an asshole if one doesn’t. – E.B. Farnum, Deadwood

So let us re-evaluate: Why the fuck am I a Democrat, anyway? They’ve got balls like beebee pellets, and spaghetti arms, and Christ do they fucking simper. Not a saboteur or showman in the bunch; devoid of charisma and saddled with Chuck Schumer’s sing-song hectoring; terrified of appearing rude. THROW SOME FUCKING ELBOWS, ASSHOLES.

First of all, you’re not a Democrat.

I vote Democrat.

Can we discuss the horrors of First Past The Post voting?

I’ll strangle you with my headphone cord. Next liberal that explains FPTP to me is getting strangled. You want a Parliament, move to Funkytown.

It would make sense that the governing body of Funkytown would be a Parliament.

Can I get back to the day, please? Stuff happened.

Stuff’s always happening with these fuckers.

The current American government fucks up more before breakfast than most governments do all day.

It’s like everyone is trying to set personal records. Okay, get back to it.

Right, so: the Senate Democrats are trying to strike some deal with the GOP. They could filibuster Gorsuch, but the Republicans could change the rules and kill the filibuster; to be fair, that’s precisely the bullshit the Dems did last time they were in power in the Senate. Enthusiasts, you know how I despise the easy and unthinking false equivalency of “both sides are equally evil and corrupt.” There is no comparison between the two parties on either evilness or corruptness, but neither side has a monopoly on short-sighted lust for temporary power.

Gorsuch is probably getting in, but he won’t change the makeup of the Court; he’s the exact same kind of asshole that Scalia was, and decisions will go back to being four against four with Kennedy making up the swing vote. (I think Justice Kennedy gets sexual thrills from being the swing vote.)

And the President’s a Russian stooge, and the Secretary of State doesn’t want his job, and the House is full of complete numbskulls, and Jesus I can’t do this tonight.

Fuck it: here’s a little girl stealing the Pope’s hat:

 

I Like Your Smile, But That Ain’t Your Stripe

March 22, 2017 / / 1 Comment

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Giving Stripey here a try.”

Please stop turning your clothing into characters.

“Well, you know: they have feelings, too.”

They don’t.

“Besides, I’m paying tribute to Prince. So young.”

Bobby, you’re in 1987.

“Sure, sure, but there’s a Thai place that’s gonna open up down the road from me in 2016, so I like to pop in for takeout.”

Goddammit, stop using the Time Sheath to get lunch.

“Dinner, too.”

All meals. Eat in your own reality.

“It’s ’87, man. Everything’s fusion bullshit now.”

Just don’t.

“Probably gonna keep doing it. Hey, why are ducks singing about us?”

…

Drake.

“Boy duck, girl duck, whatever.”

It’s a person.

“Ducks are people in 2016? Not at the Thai place. They’ll kill one right in front of you.”

No, Bobby. Drake is a person. Well, he’s a Canadian.

“That counts.”

Legally. And he’s a rapper.

“Like Kool Moe Dee?’

Kind of.

“Kool Moe Dee is not related to Rick Dees. You know: the deejay? I found that out the hard way.”

I am not pursuing that.

“So, this Drake fellow. Big time guy?”

Famous as shit.

“Good for him. Music industry is tough on Canadian ducks.”

Not a duck.

“Does he have a human beatbox? I like that routine.”

I dug that act, too, but I don’t think Drake has one.

“Oh, hey, that reminds me: if Mickey asks if you want to see his human beatbox routine, say no.”

Does Mickey just–

“Beats humans with a box.”

–beat humans..sure, yeah.

“Is the duck gonna show up?”

Haven’t decided yet.

“Just lemme know.”

Gotcha.

Drake

March 22, 2017 / / 2 Comments

Larry Drake? You’re a Deadhead?

“What?”

Heard you were rapping about the Dead.

“You could not be more off the mark.”

Not a Deadhead?

“Not a Deadhead, not a rapper, and not alive.”

Oh, right.

“2016 was rough.”

It was.

“How’s 2017 going?”

So much worse.

“Twas I referenced yon hairy minstrels!”

Was that you, Larry?

“I think that was Frank.”

Frank?

“You call me Sir Francis or I’ll cough on you!”

Please don’t do that. You probably have everything.

“Scurvy.”

Sure.

“Ricketts.”

One would assume.

“Catpox.”

What the fuck is catpox?

“Like chicken pox, but with claws.”

Were you rapping about the Grateful Dead?

“No, I lied to you.”

Why?

“It amused me to do so.”

Okay. Remind me what you did.

“I circumnavigated the globe and introduced piracy to America’s west coast.”

And you got knighted for that?

“I kicked up 30% of my booty to the Queen.”

Ah.

“The mistake you’re making is thinking that there was always a clean line of demarcation between a sailor and a pirate.”

I guess. So it wasn’t you, then?

“Too busy to rap, my good man.”

“I love rap.”

Why did it just get so cold?

“Sorry.”

Ah. Bobby Drake.

“Star of comic books and movies.”

You’re in the comics and movies. Not the star.

“Chicks love Iceman.”

You’re gay now.

“What?”

Look it up.

“Gimme a sec.”

…

“Motherfucker.”

Your sexuality got retconned a couple years ago. Maybe you could say it got hetconned.

“This is not getting my solo movie out of development.”

Maybe you could be the wacky, yet supportive, best friend. Josh Gad could play you.

“I gotta call my agent.”

Did you rap about the Dead?

“I’m fictional.”

So?

“How you doing?”

What?

Doctor.

“Yo.”

You rapping about the Dead?

“Nah. You ask Sir Francis?”

He said he didn’t do it.

“Then I got nothing.”

Gotcha.

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