Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: bob weir (Page 11 of 198)

Sometimes We Ride On Kim Jong-Un’s Horses, Sometimes We Ride Alone

October 16, 2019 / / 7 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Happy birthday, pal.

“Yup. Another, uh, spin around the sun. You don’t feel the earth circling the sucker, but it does.”

You’re 72.

“Not when I am. I’m around 40.”

The real you.

“I am the real me. David Lee Roth wouldn’t smoke cigars with a doppelganger.”

That’s not David Lee Roth, Bobby. It’s Rickie Lee Jones.

“Well, that explains why he doesn’t have any cocaine.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I, uh, gotta take this. It might be Sammy Hagar.”

It’s not.

…

“Weir Here.”

“Hairy Garcia! I come get. We be cowboys.”

“That is an intriguing offer.”

“Hairy Garcia already think he cowboy. Come be with Kim Jong-Un. You be Butch. I be Sundance Kim.”

“I’m still listening.”

“We rope. We ride. Chuckwagon follow. Coffee in tin cup.”

“Gosh, I’m tempted, but I got gigs with the Wolf Brothers coming up.”

“No more gig. I have Don Was executed.”

…

“Really?”

“Yes. Tired of looking at feet. Flip-flops for beach! Is not rock and roll!”

“Well, now I’m a little peeved.”

“Take out frustration on prairie. We shoot Injun.”

“What?”

“I dress up political prisoners like Navajo. Then I shoot.”

“That’s awful.”

“Is better than starving to death! Which is what they were gonna do!”

“I don’t want to play Cowboys and Indians with you, Kim Jong-Un.”

“Grateful Dead no fun no more.”

Now I Want A Yoo-Hoo

October 14, 2019 / / 7 Comments

Hey, Dwight Yoakum. Whatcha doing?

“Pickin’.”

And grinnin’?

“Eh. It’s been a challenging interview. Bob’s mind skips around a bit.”

For example?

“He just did a ten-minute monologue on either the Holy Modal Rounders or the Holy Roman Empire. Honestly, I couldn’t tell which. Most of his statements fit both topics.”

You need to remember that Bobby was taught the art of conversation by Neal Cassady.

“Yep, that’ll do it.”

The cowboy hats are kinda like parentheses for the group.

“You’re just as bad as him.”

Thank you.

Yoakum, Yoked

October 12, 2019 / / 2 Comments

“I could yoink you one if you’d like.”

“That’s okay, Bob.”

“Or I could get Mickey to.”

“I have enough shirts.”

“I used to, but my sister-in-law–”

“Lillian Monster.”

“–thought she smelled pork chops in my closet and threw out everything. Had to get Mickey to yoink me a whole new wardrobe.”

“Is there any way I can get you to stop saying the word ‘yoink?'”

“Well, you won’t hear it in Kpop.”

“What now?”

“The word ‘yoink’ is completely unpronounceable in Korean. They have the concept, but not the phonemes. It’s a matter of, uh, tongue placement.”

…

“What?”

“How’s your shoulder feeling, Dwayne?”

“Bob, I’m gonna walk over there for just a moment.”

“Okee-doke.”

DWIGHT YOAKUM WALKING OVER THERE FOR JUST A MOMENT NOISE

“Hank–”

“Henry.”

“–you understand what Bob’s saying?”

“I do not. My brain naturally blocks out hippie nonsense. You want me to beat him to death with the tambourine?”

“Don’t do that.”

“How about spoken word poetry?”

“I want that even less than the tambourine thing.”

“How much you bench, Dwayne?”

“I’m going home.”

Yoakum If Ya Got ‘Em

October 8, 2019 / / 0 Comments

“Thanks for having me on your show, Radio Randy.”

“Bob, for the ninth time: I am not Radio Randy, whoever that is. I’m Dwight Yoakum.”

“Well, uh, that sounds like an even faker name than ‘Radio Randy.'”

“It’s my real name, Bob. Now let’s talk about–”

“Dwell.”

“–you new band…what now?”

“And dwarf.”

“Are you listing words that start with the letters ‘dw?'”

“Yuh-huh. Not that many. There’s also Dwayne.”

“I guess so.”

“Now, if we we speaking Welsh, then we’d be here all day with the ‘dw’ words. But, uh, it’s a weird combination in English. Almost as weird a combination as when you married Julia Roberts.”

“That was Lyle Lovett, Bob.”

“Talk about outkicking your coverage.”

“I wish we could go to a commercial.”

Or Blue, Whichever

October 4, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Holding up a democracy-related sign. It’s, like, half my day lately. I work out, enjoy a minty chaw, play a theater somewhere in America, leave my body six or seven times, and I hold up signs telling young folks to vote.”

The perils of elder statesmanship. You’re not suggesting that anyone actually vote for the Green Party, though, are you?

“In a perfect world, I would be. Or, uh, even in a slightly less terrifying one than what we got now. Probably everybody should just vote Democrat this time. This sign more refers to the concept that you should vote for the weed-friendly candidate. Or, uh, legalization initiatives. Referenda, that sort of thing.”

Nice pluralizing.

“Thankee. So, uh, what’s going on with the Guns and the Alex and the Slippy?”

Axl and Slash.

“Yeah, them. Heavy mental guys. Aggressive trousers.”

I’m off on another tangent.

“Be safe.”

Thanks, Bobby.

Yoakum If They Can’t Take A Fuck

September 27, 2019 / / 2 Comments

“Your motion was never the same after Stottlemyre got through with you.”

“I am not Dwight Gooden, Bobby.”

“Ah. I’d like to tell you about a dream I had.”

“Last night?”

“In your green room. I floated from my body and all throughout the studios of Sirius XM. I was looking for my favorite station, which is Raw Dog Comedy.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Stand-up needs to be savage. I need it raw.”

“Okay.”

“But I couldn’t find it, and I wound up in Jimmy Buffett’s station. Awful friendly in there. They’re up for shots.”

“Shots and yelling and no pale, hairless shins. That’s the Buffett place.”

“And, uh, then I thought I was having a stroke, but it turned out to be Kpop.”

“Those Kpop fans are downright un-American. We got our own boy bands here.”

“We’re in danger of falling behind in the Boy Band Race.”

“There’s a Boy Band Gap, right. Bobby, the Dead played a lot of country music over the years.”

“Kinda. ‘We played a handful of country songs a lot’ would be the more accurate phrasing. We meant to learn more cowboy tunes, but one thing led to another and then Garcia died. We once got halfway through Blues Eyes Cryin’ in the Rain at rehearsal, but Billy got bored and bit Ramrod and, you know, that was that. I think we started playing cock rugby after that.”

“Cock rugby?”

“It’s basically rugby, but your cock’s more involved. Fast paced.”

“I’ll bet.”

”

 

Max Occupancy

September 26, 2019 / / 6 Comments

This is Josh Meyers’ stage set-up (plus Bobby and Sammy Hagar) for his latest tour, and I think it’s obvious that he has entered the Giant Band Phase of his career. All solo artists do, eventually. Both Elton and Elvis started with two other guys, and ended up with several score of musicians onstage. Billy Joel and Bruce began their performing lives in GBP; Bowie wandered in and out.

Here’s a quick checklist to find out whether you suffer from GBP:

  • Are there black-up singers?
  • If you told your road manager Go get the drummer, would he say Which one?
  • Have you recently paid for a trombonist’s hotel room and per diem?

If you’ve answered “Yes” to any of these questions, and experience anal leakage, you may be a victim of GBP and should consult your private physician. (Anyone vulnerable to GBP has a private physician.)

 

EDIT: Who sent me this picture? One of you did, but–as usual–I am bound by the strictures of Without Research. Claim your plaudits in the Comment Section.

Hard, Men

September 23, 2019 / / 1 Comment

Why are you being so stand-offish? Get in there, fucker. That’s your Bobby.

“I’m being appropriate.”

Fuck that. That man saved your career.

“DID NOT!”

You get in his sweaty nook. Nuzzle in, douchewad.

“This is fine.”

How’s Sammy?

“Good. The usual.”

What does that mean?

“He keeps yelling WOO! and asking if we could play Three Lock Box.”

3LB is a slapper, Josh.

“Don’t call me that. We’re not doing Three Lock Box.”

What about There’s Only One Way to Rock?

“I don’t know that one.”

You could figure it out. We’re not talking about The Black Page.

“Bob and Sam are coming out for one number. Fire on the Mountain. That’s it”

Did Sammy bring any rum?

“Like, five cases worth. Sammy Hagar is like a Boy Scout, but for partying.”

He’s prepared.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Dude, we were getting along so well.”

I know. But this is how the bit works.

“Such a hack.

I know.

…

“You’re on with John.”

“Son, this is the President.”

“Oh. Hey, Mr. President. I’m just glad you’re not Miles Davis.”

“Nasty business, that man. Fabulous horn player, no one would deny that, but as a man he’s trouble. As a man. And he is, from my experience, the type of man that riles up others, uh, of his kind. His fellows. They see his attitude, and they mimic him. I’ve told Hoover to look into him several times, but Hoover says that his agents are scared of him. Heavily-armed and unreasonable, they report.”

“That is an accurate report on Miles Davis, sure.”

“He’s not like Sam. Sam Davis, Jr. There’s a negro that should be looked up to by any young man, whatever the color.”

“I guess.”

“Friendly, hard-working, can take a joke. It’s not always about race with him. And his pronunciation! My God, you would think you were talking to a Princetonian, for all that’s worth. On the phone, you cannot tell. You simply cannot tell.”

“Mr. President, please stop discussing race relations. Why are you in a hard hat?”

“Meeting with the Teamsters. Many people have, uh, forgotten just how mobbed-up I was.”

“I just assumed.”

“You want to keep your hands clean, go into the priesthood. Politics is for men, son.”

“But we’re a nation of laws.”

“Written by men. The laws were written by men. Remember that, and you’re halfway home before you begin.”

California, Jogging On The Burning Shore

September 23, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Being fit. Physically. Later, I’ll do the Sudoku. That’s for the mental health. Right now, though, I’m keeping it tight.”

Good for you

“Most of the guys my age are like a car crash had sex with a train wreck. Not, uh, the Bobber.”

Don’t call yourself that.

“Sea air’s nice, too. Sinuses are already thanking me.”

Sure. I thought you quite jogging a while ago.

“Just on non-beaches. Bad for the knees. And the shoulder.”

I don’t think jogging on concrete is bad for your shoulder.

“I can make just about anything bad for my shoulder. You know, if I get bored enough.”

True.

“I think I’m turning around.”

Okay.

 


“Most folks don’t know that cutting the sleeves off your tee-shirt gives you an extra gear.”

I didn’t know that.

“Oh, yeah. It’s like painting a racing stripe on your car.”

Oh.

You’re just gonna run away?

“I’m having fun.”

Good for you, but you do see the rocks in front of you, right?

“I don’t have my glasses. There’s a big blue thing with a brown-and-green thing under that.”

YOU’RE GONNA RUN INTO THE ROCKS, BOBBY!

“I don’t think I am.”

BOBBY RUNNING INTO ROCKS NOISE

…

Bobby?

…

Bobby!?

“Could, uh, you fetch a member of my family and/or Matt Busch, please?’

Right away.

“And my Copenhagen. I’d like a dip while I wait for the ambulance.”

Sure.

Hand Sam His Old Guitar

September 21, 2019 / / 2 Comments

Seriously, why did Sammy not get a guitar? Fire on the Mountain has two chords in it. There’s not even a bridge with a bonus third chord. There’s a B, and there’s an A. That’s it. I Can’t Drive 55? SEVEN CHORDS! Sammy could’ve handled FOTM. Shit, you don’t even have to turn him up in the house. Just give him something to hold on to, for fuck’s sake.

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