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

Tag: bill kreutzmann (Page 1 of 87)

Call It Sheep

Hey, Billy.

“I have’t fucked the sheep.”

Jesus, I hope not.

“I have rented them out for sexual purposes. Regularly. The guy who’s coming by in an hour is here three or four times a week. Better than a stimulus check, I tell ya.”

Stop pimping out your livestock.

“Can’t make me! Besides, I’m sending some cash to Black Lives Matter. Or something similar, at least.”

Similar?

“It’s not the official organization, but the money goes to black people. Women, specifically.”

You’re just signing up to private porn sites, aren’t you?

“Man, you know me.”

Yeah.

“They take requests! I make ’em put spatulas up their butts.”

Why?

“How else are they gonna flip the pancakes?”

We’re done.

Down On The Farm

“Ass! Good to see you, but stay the fuck back.”

Glad to see you’re taking the rules seriously.

“Oh, sure. The protest is masks-only.”

The what now?

“I’m leading a group of patriots and rights enthusiasts called Reopen Kauai.”

Of course you are.

“We’re taking the mall tomorrow. We were gonna take a government building, but everyone wants Sbarro’s. And who can blame us? They do that thing where there’s a crust on top of the slice, too. That’s amazing. Everyone else was fistfucking cheese into the crust, right? Not Sbarro’s. They went the other way. They went double crust. I’m an American, and I don’t need permission to go to Sbarro’s.”

What the hell is wrong with you?

“I’m bored, Ass.”

There it is.

“I don’t wanna lead these dopey protests. I mean, I do want some fuckin’ Sbarro’s. But they’re doing delivery. The restrictions aren’t so bad.”

But?

“There’s zero opportunities for random skank. And I won’t live like that.”

So you organized a right-wing temper tantrum just to rub up against unbalanced, armed women?

“I take issue with your statement at several junctures.”

Sure.

“It’s only mostly right-wing. Lotta folks involved are just plain nuts. Now, you’d think that the skank pool would be mostly drawn from the crazies, but you’d be wrong. Skank on either side of the aisle, Ass. Old-fashioned bipartisanship.”

Are you all right?

“Soaked my mask in ether.”

Sounds right. Billy, call off this protest. No good can come from it.

“Gotta do it, Ass. Gotta protect the, uh, what’s it called, a bunch of guys wrote it but it’s not the Declaration of Independence.”

The Constitution?

“That! Gotta protect that.”

Stop it.

“Dude, there’s gonna be so many loony-tunes broads there. They’re gonna be wearing AK47’s and denim shorts. I’m gonna make ’em open carry my boner.”

Can’t you just watch Netflix like the rest of us?

“Dammit, Ass, I’m a man for skank! Have been for seven decades now, and if this is my last of those, it will be spent living the life I’ve always loved: hunting, trapping, and skinning skank.”

Can’t you just go on Tinder?

“I have been banned from the dating apps.”

All of them?

“They have a shared blacklist, apparently.”

Huh. Billy, please cancel this protest. People could get sick, and it’s just such a bad look for the nation.

“Nah. Wheels are in motion. Lotsa wheels, lotsa motion. Hey, what do you think about antagonizing the cops into hitting one of us?”

What do I think about it?

“Yeah. You think that would get the chicks hot?”

I can’t talk to you anymore.

Schtuf

Listen to this. Billy was playing with Kingfish(?) in ’85 and the van got snuck in a snowstorm, so–naturally–Billy took the opportunity to do his stand-up.

Read this. Why? Cuz it contains this graf:

But there is more to the Cybernetic Inevitable than this sont of methanasia. There are, in the words of the Poet, “machines of loving grace.” There is, hovering dean far from the burnt metal reek of exploded stars, the intricate balm of Kraftwerk….

Stop drinking cough syrup, Lester.

Read this, too. It’s Lost Live Dead. If you need me to tell you why you should be reading Lost Live Dead, then you’re fucked, Jim.

Watch this:

Life On Mars, Perfect Day, Madman Across The Water, Get It On, and Hey Jude: all the same Bechstein piano.

And watch this man:

B And Sympathy

“You got the boney maroney, Ass?”

Maybe.

“Walk a couple miles out of town and bury yourself alive.”

No.

“Save the world some work. You’re done for.”

I might not have it. And if I do, it might not be that bad.

“Nah. I can read your aura. You know what color it is?”

What color?

“Chinese malfeasance.”

Not a color.

“It’s yellowish.”

Racist.

“Everything’s racist to your generation. You better get over that, man. This plague’s gonna reshuffle the world via several rohowas.”

Racial holy wars?

“Just like Dio sang about.”

Dio did not sing about racial holy wars.

“Absolutely did. Just in secret. Those dragons in his lyrics were racist as shit.”

I don’t believe you.

“Me and Ronnie James used to hang in the 80’s. Went skank-shooting together. He liked tall chicks, so we used to drive down to LA and watch the UCLA women’s volleyball team practice. He’d jerk it sometimes. Great little guy.”

None of that is true.

“Irregardless, you stay at least nine miles away from me.”

I will respect your Personal Health Radius.

“If you die, I don’t want any of your stuff. Everything you have is crap.”

Thanks, Billy.

“Hey, I’m here for ya. Just go away.”

Sure.

Four? Loco!

Precarious?

“Yo.”

How you holding up?

“This corona shit’s for pussies. Back in ’82, we had something going around called groupie pox.”

That sounds terrible.

“Contracting it was fun.”

Sure. Small question about the microphones on Bobby’s speaker cabinet.

“Okay.”

Why four?

“There’s not four. Look careful. There’s five.”

Why?

“Weir had been complaining about wanting a fuller sound. So we did that to shut him up. I think only one mic is actually plugged in.”

Placebo mics?

“Essentially.”

Always something new with this band.

“Never boring, though. Except when we’d play Indianapolis. That was always boring.”

Man’s Best Fiend

I cannot read your expression.

“I’m smiling, Ass.”

Are you?

“Funny story: the pillows behind me are made from the skins of my previous dogs. This guy’s barely gonna make a cushion. But I love the little fucker.”

What’s his name?

“Myballs.”

Huh?

“His name is Myballs. That way, I can walk around all day asking women if they like Myballs and wanna pet Myballs.”

That’s a good bit, Billy.

“One of my favorites. Not gonna lie, sometimes I also have my actual balls out.”

You shouldn’t do that.

“Yeah, but it’s a little shouldn’t. There’s much bigger shouldn’ts out there. Remember when whats-his-face killed all you people?”

The Holocaust?

“Yeah, that thing. Well, that shouldn’t have happened, should it? That’s a huge shouldn’t, man! Compared to that, ‘shouldn’t hang sack at the Baskin-Robbins’ is a tiny little shouldn’t. Barely even noticeable.”

Are you higher than usual?

“Maaaaaaaaybe.”

Jesus, man.

“I’ve been hanging out with Kinski. That guy’s the tits. He tackled a fireman for no reason. Then he fought the Dalmatian. He’s like the Tasmanian Devil! Plus, he’s got a doctor’s bag full of pills.”

What kind of pills?

“No idea. They all got German names. Terrible language, Ass. Sounds like your mouth is having a nightmare.”

It’s a bit harsh.

“I can’t say enough good stuff about the guy.”

This is Klaus Kinski we’re talking about, right?

“Solid dude. I weaponized him.”

You what?

“Hey, Kinski! Thoughts on my Ass says you suck!”

“HE IS THE ONE WHO SUCKS!”

“BRING ME YOUR FACE TO FUCK AND EAT!”

Jesus!

“See? I love this fucking guy!”

San Francisco Boys

Hey, Billy. Is that a movie star?

“Nah. It’s the Governor of California.”

Historically, those two professions have not been exclusive of one another.

“His name’s Gavin…Something. He was the Mayor of San Francisco after the black guy with the expensive suits and before the black lady with the goofy name.”

It’s weird that I know who you’re talking about.

“Ass, I paint a word picture.”

I thought you were quarantining in Hawaii.

“Got bored.”

Sure.

“Besides, look how handsome this son of a bitch is. People this good-looking are immune to the ronabarrett.”

Coronavirus.

“I banged Rona Barrett. In my defense, I thought she was Mary Hart.”

No one knows who those people are, Billy.

“Doesn’t change the facts: I fucked.”

Great.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I gotta take this. It might be Leeza Gibbons.”

It’s not Leeza Gibbons.

“Might be,”

“Yello?”

“YOU WILL LICK MY ASS, YOU COCKING CUNTSHITTER!”

“Mom?”

“I FUCKED YOUR MOM IN HER HEART! HER BLACK HEART THAT WAS FULL OF SHIT AND VILE STUPIDITY! COME TO THIS BRIDGE SO I CAN THROW YOU OFF IT!”

“What is that, the Golden Gate? At this hour? Fuck that.”

“FUCK YOU, AMERICAN SOW! YOU ARE A SOW THAT GIVES MILK THAT IS NOT MILK, BUT SHIT. YOU ARE MILKY SHIT MAN! THIS IS YOUR NEW NAME! THIS IS WHAT I CALL YOU!”

“Man, you’re fiesty. I wanna point you at some fuckers I don’t like.”

“I HATE ALL THE FUCKERS!”

“Yeah, we’re gonna be friends. You holding?”

Ja.”

“Fuckin’ A.”

Help On The Way

Hey, Billy. Whatcha doing?

“Foreign skank.”

Nice sweater.

“Yeah, I stole it from Duke Douchebag.”

Is that a real person?

“Y’know how Dead shows in America are full of CEO’s kids, and little fuckers that went to Choate?”

Sure.

“Well, In Europe, those assholes have titles. I just call ’em all Duke Douchebag, ‘cept for the girls. Lotta skank! You’d be surprised how much of the noble class is pure, unadulterated skank.”

Sluttery is an ancient tradition of the patricians.

“I love it when they yell at me in gobbledy-gook. Y’know how they say ‘no’ in German?”

Nein.

“Trick question! Skank doesn’t say no! That’s why it’s skank!”

Walked into that one.

“Hold on. I gotta make a call.”

CELL PHONE DIALING NOISE

Goddammit, Billy, I’ve told all of you to stop using the Time Sheath to bring phones back to the past.

“Hey, who was the one who gave a time machine to the Grateful Dead? This is on you. Shh.”

“Hello?”

“Hey, Doc Comfort! I gotta come see you!”

“What? I’m not actually a doctor. I’m a hospital ship.”

“Can you write scrips?”

“I have a fully-stocked pharmacy on my main deck.”

“Close enough. My regular doctor got the balogna virus, and I’ve been 86’ed by all the other medical professionals on the island. I’m not even allowed in vet’s offices anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because vets don’t know how to party, man.”

“I don’t even know who this is. Or why I’m sentient all of a sudden. I was built in 1970, and this is quite literally my second conversation.”

“Hey, you’re quiet. No harm in that.”

“What? No! I was a boat! I didn’t talk to anyone because I was a boat!”

“Kid, you gotta believe in yourself. Now let’s talk about what’s coming out of my johnson. Not gonna lie: it’s smelly.”

“AH GOT SOMETHIN’ F’R THAT!”

“Elvis?”

“You know him!?”

“EV’RYBODY KNOWS ME, Y’OVERGROWN BATHROOM TOY! DO NOT FORGET THAT AH AM INSIDE YOU, AND FROM WITHIN CAN BRING ABOUT YER DESTRUCTION, LIKE JONAH WHEN HE WAS IN THAT WHALE, OR CHARLIE HODGE THAT TIME HE GOT LOCKED INTO TH’ VAN!”

“Hey, King! It’s Billy!”

“AH RECOGNIZE AN’ RESPECT YOU, BILLY KRAMPLEBAUM. PLEASE TELL HAIRY GARCIA T’ SEND RONNIE TUTT TO ME IMMEDIATELY. IF AH’M GONNA CURE THESE HERE HEEBIE-JEEBIES, AH’M GONNA NEED A MUCH BIGGER BAND.”

“Good thinking.”

“AH WILL ALSO TURN TH’ SWEET INSPIRATIONS INT’ NURSES, AND KATHY WESTMORELAND, TH’ PRETTY LI’L GIRL TH’T SINGS ALL TH’ HIGH NOTES, IS GONNA BE AN ADMINISTRATOR OF SOME SORT. ‘PARENTLY, SHE HAD A COUPLE YEARS O’ ACCOUNTING AT COLLEGE.”

“Paperwork’s important. Hey, I need enough penicillin to kill a horse, and then enough speed to bring the horse back to life.”

“AH TAKE BLUE CROSS, BLUE SHIELD, AN’ BLUE BELT.”

“What’s blue belt?”

“UNDER THAT COVERAGE, TH’ PATIENT KARATES WITH ME T’ SEE WHO PAYS.”

“I’m paying cash.”

“AN’ BRING ME SOME SPAGHETTI WITH BACON CRUMBLED INT’ IT. THE MESS HALL ON THIS FLOATIN’ JALOPY AIN’T UP TO MAH STANDARDS!”

“Yeah, all right. When are you?”

“ME OR TH’ SHIP?”

“Both.”

“AH MAY HAVE OVERESTIMATED MAH ABILITIES TO HARNESS TH’ TIME CAPE. AH GOT REALITIES ALL OVERLAID AN’ EV’RYTHING. WE GETTIN’ AWFUL CLOSE T’ DINOSAURS POPPIN’ INT’ EXISTENCE HERE.”

“Yeah, y’can’t get too tricky with time travel. It squiggles on ya.”

HERD OF VELOCIRAPTORS VIVASPIRATING ONTO THE DECK OF A HOSPITAL SHIP NOISE

“Jesus! What the fuck!”

“BILLY KRAMPLEBAUM, AH SHOULD TEND T’ THIS. TH’ RAPTORS ALREADY DONE ET UP TH’ SWEET INSPIRATIONS AND KATHY WESTMORELAND, TH’ PRETTY LI’L GIRL TH’T SINGS ALL TH’ HIGH NOTES.”

“Why are there dinosaurs!? WHY ARE THERE DINOSAURS!”

“HEY NOW, SWIMMY BOY! DON’T YOU BE USIN’ NO BIG-CASE LETTERS! THAT’S RESERVED F’R TH’ KING! THIS DIALOGUE-ONLY NONSENSE IS CONFUSIN’ ENOUGH WITHOUT BOTH O’ US LOOKIN’ TH’ SAME!”

“I really don’t understand the rules here.”

“GO WITH TH’ FLOW, MAN! YOU SHOULD BE USED T’ THAT!”

Happy Place

Hey, Billy. Why are you at the Farewell Shoes?

“Looking for a happy place, Ass. Not gonna lie: I’m freaked out.”

But you’ve had so many diseases before.

“Sexually-transmitted! You could get a shot and be cured, and plus it was fun acquiring ’em. Not so much with the carnivorous virus.”

Corona.

“I’m pretty sure it’s carnivorous. It came from bats. This is a dracula-related syndrome. Goddamn Chinese and their draculas.”

What?

“Whole country is crawling with ’em. One out of every six Chinese is a secret dracula.”

I’m just gonna concede the point and move on. What are you doing to protect yourself?

“I got more guns than you can shake your dick at.”

How are you protecting yourself against the virus.

“Not gonna lie, I have fired off warning shots.”

Of course.

“And I got the whole compound on lockdown. There are a couple mines.”

You shouldn’t mine your property.

“There’s no law that says I can’t.”

There are many laws that say precisely that. Local, state, federal, and even international. Do not lay mines, Billy.

“Yeah, here’s the thing–”

You forgot to write down where you buried the mines?

“–I didn’t write down…yeah, that. So I have no idea where they are. Mines have an inherent flaw as a weapon.”

Yes.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I gotta take this. It might be skank.”

You’re still consorting with skank during all this?

“They don’t come over or anything. I make ’em point the phones at their buttholes while they take a Duolingo class. It’s my new thing.”

Do it to it.

“This is Kreutzann. Talk me off.”

“Ooh, I like your phone manners. You a rascally little possum.”

“Mick?”

“It’s Joe Exotic. I done cured up coronavirus in a back trailer at my zoo.”

“I’ve taken lots of shit made in zoo trailers. Keep talking.”

“Mixed me up some ketamine with a bunch o’ other shit I ordered off of the internet. I call it Charlie Sheen.”

“Why?”

“Cuz there’s also tiger blood in there. Well, tiger everything. You ever seen a duck press?”

“Yeah.”

“I put a cub in one ‘ them. Squeezed it ’til it was juice. There was a refinin’ process after that. I know what I’m doin’.”

“And it can definitely cure the cappadonna? I did what Trump said and drank quinine. Well, I had a shitload of gin and tonics. I’m also looking into colloidal silver.”

“Drinkin’ it?”

“Investing. As a hedge against inflation.”

“I wouldn’t know nothin’ ’bout the economy. I was not educated.”

“Not at all?”

“Not even a little bit. There was laws against teaching homosexuals to read as recently as two years ago in Oklahoma.”

“So why do you stay?”

“Cuz there ain’t no laws whatsoever ’bout whether or not a man can own 800 fuckin’ tigers. Y’gotta make tradeoffs in this life.”

“How fast can you get your drug to Hawaii?”

“How fast c’n you hire me a private plane?’

“I can’t.”

“How fast can you buy me a first-class ticket?”

“I can’t.”

“How fast c’n you buy me a business–”

“You’re flying coach, fuckwit. And you’re getting a Silkwood shower when you get here.”

This One’s In B

One must assume that Mickey only brought underwear and socks on tour, and each day wandered–bare-chested and half-cocked–by the merch table to yoink himself a fetching top.

OR

If Mrs. Donna Jean had balls, they’d fall out of those shorts. Balls are always looking for a way out; they’re like Papillon.

OR

What the hell is Bobby playing? It’s an Ibanez, but it’s not Cowboy Fancy. Anyone?

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