Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: a poem for bobby

What If Chuck Lorre Wrote The Dead’s Amazon Show?

February 29, 2016 / / 3 Comments

INT – MASSIVE APARTMENT THE ENTIRE DEAD LIVES IN FOR SOME REASON – DAY

GARCIA and MICKEY are sitting on the couch. BOBBY is in the kitchen.

BOBBY
Do we have anything but 2% milk?

MICKEY
No. Why?

BOBBY
Well, I’ve been reading the label. It doesn’t say
what the other 98% is!

AUDIO CUE: LAUGH TRACK

MRS. DONNA JEAN enters in a towel. There is another towel wrapped around her head.

AUDIO CUE: “WOOOOOO!”

BOBBY
Oh, no! A suicide bomber!

MRS. DONNA JEAN
It’s a towel, Bob. Not a turban.

AUDIO CUE: RACIST, LOWEST-COMMON-DENOMINATOR LAUGH TRACK

GARCIA
So, what’s with the getup?

MRS. DONNA JEAN
I bought some new herbal shampoo from
Big-Donged Sheila and LOOK!

Mrs. Donna Jean REMOVES THE TOWEL and her hair is TIE-DYE.

AUDIO CUE: “OHHHHHHHH!”

MICKEY
Well, Donna: you wanted to be a Grateful Dead,
and now you’ve got a grateful head!

AUDIO CUE: LAUGHTER, APPLAUSE, ME SHOOTING MYSELF

Bad Choices To Fill The Supreme Court Vacancy

February 14, 2016 / / 8 Comments
  • Let’s just get Judge Judy, Judge Reinhold, Mike Judge, Judge Dredd, and Flip Wilson’s “Da Judge” character out of the way up front.
  • People are sure to start advocating for an African-American judge, or a Latino, but I think we should get an Albino-American on the Supreme Court.
  • An albino would look super-cool in the black robe.
  • Also, albinos glow in the dark, so the Court could play midnight basketball.
  • Ai Wei Wei would be a poor choice as he does not speak English, nor know the law, and China would certainly have him accidentally assassinated.
  • Kobe Bryant will need a job soon, although he would be a terrible Justice: he would hog all the opinions and try to get the other Justices traded.
  • Kobe aside, the Court does need a forward; Ginsburg is not strong in the paint.
  • Speaking of basketball, Bill Walton could do it.
  • Oral arguments would be much more entertaining; the case would be about patent law or something, and Justice Walton (“Call me Bill.”) would start talking about how Ancient Egyptians discovered tanning and made the finest leather in antiquity, and then he’d do his rap on violins (“Only four strings, but they make a ton of noise.”), and then a Coach Wooden story or two.
  • The poor court stenographer would be a mess by the end of it.
  • “Psst. How do you spell Aoxomoxoa?”
  • Bobby would mean well, but he would be a poor Supreme Court Justice.
  • He’s a rather bright man, but does lack a formal education of any kind.
  • And I know the Constitution makes no mention of any requirement that a nominee have been a judge, or even have attended law school.
  • But it would help.
  • I would imagine lunchroom conversations would be impenetrable; the other Justices might even ostracize Bobby, and that would make him sad.
  • Stop making Bob Weir sad, Supreme Court.
  • In a similar vein, I bring up the Air Bud rule: just because the Constitution doesn’t explicitly say that a golden retriever can’t be appointed to the highest court in the land doesn’t mean it’s allowed.
  • Besides, a dog would vote with whoever gave him treats, and we’ve already got a Clarence Thomas.
  • Every bar I go to, there’s a guy there who’s so smart: they should find that guy.
  • Brett Ratner.

A Poem For Bobby

April 26, 2013 / / 1 Comment

you don’t know how precious a stool is until the road crew brings you one.

you don’t know why all these people are in your living room.

you don’t know how it feels to be me.

you don’t know where garcia is.

you don’t know how you knew that if you ever collapsed onstage that phil would just keep singing, but you were right.

you don’t know how bitcoin works and, quite frankly, don’t wish to know.

you don’t know how easy it is to love you.

you don’t know if the doctor said one pill every four hours or four pills every hour so NOM NOM NOM PILLS YAY GO SLEEP NOW KTHXBAI.

you don’t know where that highway leads to.

you don’t know what happened to the rest of your pants.

you don’t know how hard it is to love you.

you don’t know the way to minglewood.

you don’t know the way to el paso.

you don’t know the way to mexicali.

you don’t know the way back to new york city, but i do believe you’ve had enough.

The Stacks

Follow Us

Google Verification

Follow Us

Follow me on Twitter

© 2026 Thoughts On The Dead

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑