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

Tag: bob weir (Page 36 of 198)

Tattoo Ew

What is this?

“I think it’s called Lil Shard. One of those, uh, Soundcloud rappers.”

And the other one?

“Rich guy’s kid.”

Probably. I think these two are actually Josh’s jerkoff fashion buddies.

“Huh. Never got that about the young man. What’s the point of being good-looking if you’re gonna try? He should do what I used to do: let the face do the work.”

It’s a good plan if you’ve got the tools.

“And, you know, he does. I’ve tried to mentor him in the ways of handsomeness, but he doesn’t want to listen.”

You tried.

“I see him standing in front of those damned clothes cases of his before shows. I used to bring my entire wardrobe for a whole tour in a grocery sack.”

Different approaches. How you doing with that neck tattoo?

“If I look directly at it, I’m gonna vomit. You?”

Same.

And Those That Could Not Sink Or Swim Were Just Left There To Float

Hey, Bobby. Put your nipple away.

“He’s, uh, on vacation, too.”

True. Whatcha doing?

“Puzzling at this fellow’s choice of beach-footwear.”

I probably wouldn’t go with a loafer.

“Gotta let the dogs out when you’re on vacation.”

He’s not on vacation, Bobby. He’s at work.

“I kinda am, too.”

Not that you’d know it. What happened with the livestream?

“It’s better now. I started taking palmetto root.”

Not that stream. I’m talking about the webcast.

“Exterminators took care of that.”

The internet, Bobby. They usually play your shows on the internet.

“Do they now? Wow. 21st century, huh?”

The stream on Thursday night was shitty to the point of people complaining, and then nugs.net canceled tonight’s ‘cast without much of an explanation.

“Ah.”

Any idea what happened?

“Sunspots?”

No.

“Rebels in the hills?”

There are no rebels in the hills, Bobby. You’re on the Mayan Riviera.

“Weird how the Mayans named their coast something French.”

What I’m hearing is that you have no idea what happened.

“In my defense, there’s, like, eight layers of people that bullshit has to flow through before I get involved.”

True. Follow the rules of water safety.

“Always assume the boat is loaded, and keep your finger off the rudder.”

Close enough.

Dancin’ In The Streets

The Grateful Dead wasn’t a political band; remember that. When the kids took the campus, they showed up and choogled, but they weren’t political. They played benefits in support of the Black Panthers and against the death penalty, but they weren’t political. They raised money for the rainforest, and for Amnesty International, and…well, here:

What the organizations above have in common is this: they represent the little guy.

That’s what politics is. It’s a fight between the big guy and the little guy. And the Dead have always taken David’s side.

But remember: they weren’t a political band.

The Measure Of A Man

What is going on here?

“I’m getting a fitting. I’ve gone into acting, and I’m appearing in an adaptation of Dumas’ The Count of Monte Chocula.

Not true.

“Getting reskulled.”

Also not a thing.

“This lady’s wearing a tailor’s scarf.”

It’s called sewing tape.

“So I, uh, must be getting measured for something. Iron Man suit?”

I doubt it.

“Am I Abe Lincoln now? I don’t wanna be. Too many letters to write.”

You’re not Lincoln, Bobby.

“Then, you know, I got nothing. But the ladies are being real nice, so I’m gonna be polite and just, uh, experience my experience.”

I wish more people had your attitude, Bobby.

“Be a more blissful world.”

I’d Like To Eyes Of The World A Coke

“Yo.”

Precar–oh, you’re already here.

“It’s load-bearing.”

The Coke cup?

“Yeah.”

How?

“We managed.”

Monitors look nice.

“Well, we considered the aesthetics.”

And?

“And then we said, ‘Fuck it,’ and left ’em unpainted.”

Sure. You were joking about the Coke cup, right?

“Shit, no. You move that and we all die.”

Makes sense.

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