Tag: bob weir (Page 18 of 198)

“Bob, my legendary friend, take my freakishly large hand and let me lead you to the sanctum sanctorum.”

“Sizzler?”

“Not yet, Bob. We’ll stop at Sizzler on the way home, I promise.”

“I’m holding you to it.”

“I speak of a holy place, perhaps even quasi-mystical. A space of plans and dreams and the worst-looking feet you’ve ever seen in your life. Did you ever see The Red Shoes?”

“All over the place.”

“Not actual red shoes. The movie.”

“Ah. Was that the one with Peter Boyle?”

“Forget The Red Shoes, Bob. Grasp my prodigious paw and I will take you to a land of pure imagination.”

“Y’know, Bill, I’ve been in a dressing room once or twice.”

“Not like this, my esteemed prophet. The smells alone will have your nose reapplying for grad school. The camaraderie! The esprit de corps! The joie de vive!”

“Are those French for ‘dong?'”

“No, they’re in addition to the dong. Sweet Molly McCracken’s teats, we are gonna see some dong.”

“All right.”

THUMP

“Sir.”

THUMP

“Sir?”

THUMP

“Sir!?”

“Call me Bobby.”

“Uh-huh. Can you stop bouncing your testicles against my head?”

“Well, you should know that it’s not just the testicles. I’m working with the whole potato salad here.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“That’s okay. They do.”

“They?”

“The readers.”

“What the fuck are you–”

THUMP

“–talking about? Y’know what? I’m just gonna move.”

“Good call.”

*ALTERNATIVE TITLE: Rich Man’s Dong On My Poor Head

“Bob, I cannot describe the joy that fills my enormous, broken body that you’ve joined me here at courtside to watch the most exciting sport ever invented by man, woman, or over-educated dog. I quote the philosopher Kurtis Blow when I say ‘I love basketball.'”

“Well, you know: I’m a fan.”

“Do you know where that word comes from? ‘Fan?’ In the olden days, before the advent of conditioned air, the spectators would bring palm fronds or other large foliage to wave at the players in hopes of cooling them down. Of course, since it was the old days, the fronds were also used for the purposes of racism.”

“Sure. Anything’s racist if you hit a minority with it.”

“Listen to the crowd, Bob! The excitement! The anticipation! We find ourselves as members of a proud lineage that stretches back to the Flavian Amphitheater or the Circus Maximus.”

“I was always a Ringling’s man myself.”

“And after the game, we’ll head down into the locker rooms and check out some dong. You’ve never seen dongs like these, Bob.”

“I’ve seen Phil’s.”

“It’s nothing like that. You’re comparing a golf ball to the Death Star. These are world-class athletes with world-class dongs. That’s why the shorts are so baggy nowadays.”

“Ah.”