Tag: benjy eisen (Page 7 of 7)

Benjy Eisen’s responsibilities.

• Author.
• Manager.
• Assistant.
• BFF. (Billy’s Friend Forever.)
• Sandwich crust remover.
• Benjy also blows on Billy’s soup if it is too hot.
• Although, sometimes Billy punches Benjy because the soup is too hot.
• Maker of phone calls.
• Maker-upper of excuses as to why Billy can’t come to the phone.
• Trilby procurer.
• Bagman.
• When the picture of Phil on Billy’s dartboard gets too full of holes, Benjy makes a new one and tacks it up.
• Guy who waits on the boat.
• Occasional drunken tugger.
• Explainer of Instagram.
• Falconer.
• Gimp.
• Human pocket. (Billy’s pretty much using Benjy as a walking fanny pack on the book tour.)
• Drug buddy.
• Orgy buddy.
• Road trip buddy. (In July, Billy and Benjy are renting a Dodge Challenger and hitting all the big roller coasters in the Midwest.)
• If Billy does too many lines and his nose is all fucked up, but he wants to keep doing cocaine, Benjy will blow it up his butt, Stevie Nicks-style. (Billy has to shower up real good beforehand, though: Benjy put his foot down.)
• Nomenklatura.
• Governess to Justin, who keeps insisting that Nixon was president when he was born, and therefore does not need a governess, but Benjy keeps trying to make him do his Latin homework.
• The government has Billy’s DNA on record (long story,) so when Billy wants to leave a bag of flaming doody on Phil’s doorstep, Benjy makes the doody.
• Carries the box of books, if the box of books needs carrying.
• Carries Billy, if Billy needs carrying.
• Pretends to be Mickey for Billy’s weird psycho-fetish bullshit.
• Waxes Billy’s surfboard. (Not a euphemism.)
• Waxes Billy’s surfboard. (Euphemism.)
• Starts off as an off-kilter house painter, but becomes a nanny and then maybe hooked up with Candace Bergen in the last episodes?
• Robin. (Billy has pounds of shrooms, a Batman cowl, and long afternoons to kill: someone will end up being Robin.)
• Sancho Panza.

“Hat store?”

“Hat store.”

“Hey, Thoughts on my Ass: what the fuck?”

Godammit, you show your narrator some respect.

“No. You’re unreliable. What happened to my book, Deal: My Three Decades of Drumming, Dreams, and Drugs with the Grateful Dead? You said you were going to–”

Did you just do a plug?

“–be all about the book and there’s one little post, man. Shit, it took you 4,000 words to half-assedly turn me into a giant mech and my life story gets one post and then it’s back to Bobby Time?”

I like Bobby Time. It’s light-hearted and whimsical, whereas you are turning into Frank Reynolds from It’s Always Sunny.

“C’mon, man: gotta get with the team, move some product. I’m out here busting my ass signing these fuckers and answering questions and other stuff.”

Yeah, I’ve been hearing about the other stuff. You should knock it off.

“Book tours are fun, man. All the bullshit, none of the work. Plus: y’know how every bookstore has a chick with dreadlocks working there? I banged ’em. Each and every one of ’em. Then, I’d shoplift one of those Henry Porter books; got the whole set now. Fuckin’ magic, huh?”

I guess.

“What are we gonna do about the book? Wanna do an interview?”

Is what we’re doing not an interview?

“Nah. We’re talking. You got the book in front of you?”

Yeah.

“Go to 348.”

Okay.

“Can you believe that I wrote a book with a page 348?”

You didn’t. The Phish fan you adopted showed you pictures to jog your memory enough for 348 pages worth of stories, some of which actually happened.

“Same thing: I’m awesome. Anyway, tell the nice people what that page is about in the most straightforward way possible. No digressions or asides or outright lies.”

Personal issues and financial disagreements got in the way of the music in the post-Garcia era.

“Okay, now what does it really say?”

Fuck Phil.

“Right. That’s the difference between an interview and just talking. If we were doing an interview, I wouldn’t even have brought that subject up, man! Or the dickpunching.”

But since we’re just talking?

“I love punching dick and Phil can eat it.”

…

“Oh, also: the Dead was heavily invested in the white slave trade for decades. Still, as a matter of fact.”

Oh, I totally forgot about the white slave trade thing.

“It’s been a while since anyone brought it up, yeah, but we sold us some honkies.”

Uh, sure. Speaking of purchasing people: what’s up with your new best friend?”

“Benjy?”

Yeah.

“Love that fucker. Good kid. That’s my boy right there. That’s my Boswell.”

Do not make that comparison.

“What’s your problem with him, anyway?”

Got no problem.

“Fuck off. What is it?”

Nothing.

“Come on!”

…

I did not know you were adopting a Deadhead.

“Aw, you’re jealous.”

I can transcribe your rantings and fill in the years you don’t remember with stuff from McNally’s book! I can move into your house and be your new best friend! I can pretend to not mind when you use Jew as a verb!

“Well, he sent me a letter.”

I have written many open letters to you.

“Also, he’s not crazy.”

Ah.

“Talk about my book.”

FINE.