Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Was John Mayer not invited or did he have Celebrity Thanksgiving to attend?
OR
Why is Oteil not sitting with the rest of the band? Is it because he wore sweatpants on Thursday?
OR
Is Matt Busch wearing a fucking Islanders hoodie? Unacceptable, Matt Busch.
OR
“Who’s the youngest here?”
“Black Phil.”
“Thanks, Billy. Black Phil–”
“Oteil. My name is Oteil.”
“–will you read the Four Questions for us?”
“Wrong holiday, Bobby.”
“Oh, hey, are we back at Woodstock?”
Stop it, Bobby.
“A lot of people don’t know this, but I spent most of that weekend with my best friend, Jimi Hendrix.”
That is not true. The Dead camped in a motel miles away and held the promoter up for more cash, then played terribly.
“I snuck off. Me and Jimi had a blast. Talked about the old days, engaged in free love, got disco fries.”
They had disco fries at Woodstock?
“No, but we had a helicopter.”
Sure.
“Much different vibe than the West Coast.”
How so?
“Longitude was off.”
Bobby, I need you stop fibbing. You didn’t hang out with Hendrix at Woodstock.
“Oh, yeah. Jammed with him a bit onstage.”
No.
“I was, uh, the black guy playing congas.”
Nope.
“Wailed on those suckers, man.”
Bobby, knock it off.
“Okay.”
Okay? Just like that?
“This is the last of these pictures that Spencer sent. Bit’s over.”
Oh.
“It wasn’t great.”
No, but now I have to think up something new. I hate that.
“Preaching to the fire, and into the frying pan.”
You understand me.
“Would you like to take a picture with a Grateful Dead, young man?”
“Bobby, I’m in the band.”
“I’m pretty sure the new guy’s black.”
“No, I’m the old new guy. Jeff.”
“Not ringing a bell.”
“Jeff Chimenti.”
…
“New Brent.”
“Oh, hey. Didn’t recognize you standing up.”
“Sure.”
“I think we’re gonna have a great show. Let’s, uh, just have some fun out there.”
“Sounds great, Bob.”
“But, you know, not too much fun. Or I’ll yell at you in front of the whole crowd.”
“Okay.”
“Speaking of yelling at people, you see the drummers lately?”
“They’re in the parking lot trying to sell counterfeit Bitcoins.”
“Oh, yeah. I bought a couple.”
“They’re fake, Bob. They’re not worth anything.”
“They are when I sign ’em.”
“Huh. Smart.”
“I got a lotta tricks up my sleeve.”
“You really do.”
…
“Bob, do you have any food?”
“I’m not going though this again, New Brent. You wanted to eat, you should have joined The Eagles.”
“I hate The Eagles, man.”
“Everybody hates The Eagles, but they lay out a spread.”
“Whatchoo say, Bobert Weir!? Repeat that statement!”
“The coyote was gonna fuck the roadrunner.”
“Lesh, you hearin’ this!?”
“I’ve tried to explain it to him, Pig. Leave me out of it.”
“Dammit, Weir, the coyote is whatchoo call a carnivore! And a roadrunner is what a coyote might call lunch!”
“Be that as it may, I always saw a subtext.”
“Ain’t no subtext in a kiddy cartoon!”
“Wile E. is a boy, right?”
“I suppose.”
“And Roadrunner is a girl.”
“Roadrunner is a roadrunner! Where you gettin’ a female vibe?”
“The eyes. The legs. The adaptiveness.”
“You boys on that lightning juice tonight?”
“No, nuh-uh.”
“Be honest.”
“Cross my heart, Pig. I just, you know, think the coyote wanted to fuck the roadrunner. The eating was symbolic.”
“You’re thinkin’ of Pepe le Pew!”
“Him, too. All of ’em. Foghorn and the Bantamweight, Sheepdog and the Wolf, Bugs and Everybody. At the heart of each is a seduction story.”
“Stop talkin’ foolishness, Weir.”
“He’s right, Pig! All those cartoons were about fucking, man!”
“Garcia, you stay outta this!”
“When, uh, the coyote falls off the cliff? That’s an orgasm.”
“No, it ain’t!”
“That’s what ‘That’s all, folks’ really means, which actually has a double meaning. The first is: I just came. The second? Remove the comma and you have ‘That’s all folks.’ What’s made of folks? Semen. The double-meaning doubles back on itself. Chuck Jones was really playing the long game.”
“Weir, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m gonna go find me a fox.”
“Ooh, good idea. Grab me one.”
“The ol’ Pig’ll see what he c’n do.”
“I have a question.”
His name is Jon Bernthal. He’s an actor currently playing The Punisher on Netflix.
“Ah. And, uh, here’s another question.”
The Punisher is a Marvel character.
“One of those souped-up heroes?”
Superheroes, Bobby.
“No, no. These guys are all full of extra features and abilities. Thoroughly souped-up heroes.”
I guess. The Punisher doesn’t have any powers.
“How does he punish, then?”
He has PTSD and a van.
“So does Sam Cutler.”
And an arsenal.
“Still could be Sam Cutler.”
The Punisher shoots people. Or stabs them in the face. Sometimes, he uses explosives. If he needs to, he beats people to death with whatever blunt object is within reach. I don’t know if he throws anyone off a building in this version, but he’s absolutely thrown people off roofs before. One time, he lured a couple guys into a polar bear’s enclosure at the zoo.
“Uh-huh. So,uh, he’s the bad guy?”
No. He’s the hero.
“I’m not following.”
It’s not like he’s murdering randos without due process in progressively entertaining ways, he’s murdering bad guys without due process.
“And, uh, why is he punishing anyone in the first place? Why doesn’t he join the cops?”
He was a cop. Then his family was killed by criminals.
“Well, there’s an inciting incident for ya.”
You said it. Thereafter, Frank Castle dedicated his life to sneaking up behind criminals and bludgeoning them to death. Or sniping them from a block away. A good deal of the Punisher’s appeal is his steadfast refusal to fight fair.
“Sounds like Billy. Does this Punishing fellow hang out with the other souped-up heroes?”
He’s frenemies with Daredevil. Tries to murder Spider-Man on occasion.
“Still sounds like Billy.”
It does.
OR
Jon Bernthal was in The Wolf of Wall Street. The merch yoink: not just for drummers!
“What is this? Just, uh, Handsome Bob Night?”
Seems that way.
“Kinda like every night.”
Nice one.
“I got a ton of ’em.”
Bobby, I’ve been talking to Josh a lot about his personal style.
“Everyone has. It’s, uh, his go-to topic. I gotta admire the kid, though. He’s out there. I’ve always been a little more conservative.”
Conservative? The short-shorts were conservative?
“Saved on fabric. Very conservative.”
How would you describe your personal aesthetic, Bobby?
“Not stained. That’s important. Can’t walk around with a splotch of salmon on your shirt.”
No.
“People might think it was blue fin.”
You guys hate blue fin.
“Comfort is important. Fire retardedness.”
Retardation?
“Retardance.”
I get your point.
“Know what else is important from your clothes? Silence. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had one or two items gain sentience and it’s just the worst.”
Snake Tee-Shirt?
“Yeah. And Madonna Tee-Shirt. They dated briefly.”
Sure. What does Bob Weir require from an outfit?
“Gotta cover up your genitals. If your outfit doesn’t do that, then you’ve kinda missed the point of getting dressed. Oh, and it should help regulate your body temperature.”
Who is your fashion icon?
“Carol Channing.”
What’s the one piece in your closet you couldn’t live without?
“The dresser. Otherwise, everything’d be on the floor.”
If your fashion sense were an animal, which animal would it be?
“Any marsupial.”
Why?
“The pouch. Marsupials are the only species with a fanny pack. That’s, uh, a great decision.”
I’m learning so much. Who are your favorite designers?
“Designers? Huh. Who makes my sandals?”
Birkenstock.
“Them. Oh, and, uh, who makes my tee-shirts?”
The merch staff.
“Them, too.”
I think we’ve put to rest the fallacy that John Mayer is the most fashion-savvy member of Dead & Company.
“Who?”
Josh.
“Ah.”
Ladies and gentlemen: the third Franco brother, Yup-Yup. James and Dave get most of the attention, but don’t sleep on Yup-Yup.
OR
Whenever Hunter would start talking about poems or whatnot and Bobby got confused, he would look in the mirror at his hair and feel all right.
OR
The building in the background looks (West) German, but the car right behind them looks like a Citroen. Any world-travelling Enthusiasts able to place this pic?
Bobby, stop this.
“Don’t tell me who to be best friends with.”
These are manipulated photos that do not reflect reality.
“Reality is so often pliable.”
It’s truly not.
“This picture is from, uh, right before our first tour.”
Our?
“The Jimi and Bobby Best Friends Experience.”
Stop it.
“We’re opening for the Monkees. I’m, uh, surprised you haven’t heard of this. Famous rock and roll moment.”
Yes, it was, but you weren’t part of it.
“Those teens didn’t know what we were laying down. Monkees were real decent guys, though. Peter Tork let me try on his hat.”
None of this happened.
“Gotta tell ya: it was weird getting someone else’s leftovers in the Hostility Suite. Didn’t much care for it.”
I need you to stop telling these lies.
“Is this because Jimi’s black?”
No! It has nothing to do with that!
“Those exclamation points say different.”
I can’t do this any more.
“No one asked you to.”
True.
“I told you we were best friends.”
Bobby, this is not a real picture.
“It’s a real friendship. We made each other bracelets.
This is literal fake news.
“Oh, no. This is, uh, Monterey. I’m the guy in the middle.”
I got that.
“And this is my best friend in the whole world, Jimi Hendrix.”
I recognize him.
“On my left.”
Right.
“No, left.”
I don’t wanna do this bit.
“And, uh, I think this is Brian Jones.”
It might be.
“People aren’t aware of this, but the Monterey Pop Festival had very few pixels.”
I see.
“But, you know, it was a much blurrier era.”
Bobby, this is not a real photo.
“No one can be sure of that.”
Spencer from the Comment Section can, seeing as how he made it.
“You ever met this fellow?”
Not in person, no.
“There you go. Could be an Editor of Time.”
A what?
“Imagine Photoshop, but for reality.”
Oh, let’s not make them a thing.
“Hey, Bobby baby. Who you talkin’ to?”
“Jimi, are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh, great. Usually I have to explain it, and it makes no sense.”
“I can dig it. Hey, is that Brian Jones?”
“Maybe?”
“I can’t make him out, either. Tell you what: put a woman within arm’s reach.”
“Sure.”
BOWL CUT SLAP!
“Yeah, that’s Brian.”
“Let’s ditch his bad vibes, Bobby baby, and go jam out and get freaky.”
“Okee-doke.”
“Headband?”
“No, I’m driving.”
Not pictured: Al Franken, supporting women. (Technically, putting your hand on a woman’s ass is supporting them.)
OR
“So, uh, Senator. Where’s your partner?”
“Bernie?”
“Yeah. If anyone should be a Deadhead, you’d think it would be him.”
“You’re right, but he’s not. I’ve asked him. He says your music is counter-revolutionary and aspirational.”
“Ah. What, uh, what kind of stuff does he prefer?”
“Work songs. Poetry about the People.”
“Y’know, the more I hear about that guy, the less I like him.”
“Most folks have that reaction.”
OR
Mickey, look this way.
…
No, over here.
…
The same way the other two are looking, Mickey.
…
Oh, fuck it. Just take the picture.
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