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

Tag: bob weir (Page 56 of 198)

An Old Friend Returns

“Good morning, sir. Can I assist you?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m, uh, preferred. Or, you know, very important. I’m in the little club where you get to hang out in a bar that poor people aren’t let into.”

“Yes, sir. You’re a member of the Praetor’s Suite.”

“That thing you just said.”

“Wonderful. I just need to see your ticket.”

“I got the whole phone deal going. Here ya go.”

“That’s Candy Crush, sir.”

“Oops, sorry. Love that game. Here it is.”

“No, that’s a picture of your dog.”

“My girls call him a pupper. That’s the new thing, I guess. Oh, here.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Weir. Thank you. Will you be checking anything?”

“I’ll probably check my email in a bit.”

“Luggage, Mr. Weir. Will you be checking any luggage?”

“Oh, right. No.”

“What about your guitar?”

“It’s not checking any luggage, either.”

APPLE WATCH NOISE

“I should take this.”

“Weir here.”

“Bobby, we need to talk about the book.”

“Benj? I thought Billy killed you.”

“He did. Repeatedly, and in increasingly-comical ways.”

“I’m not writing a book.”

“Right! I’ll write it for you. I hear Simon & Schuster is looking for a new project.”

“Yeah, I dunno. What’s that noise?”

“This noise?”

oooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEoooooooAAAAAAAooooo

“Yeah, that noise.”

“Theremin.”

“Sure. Mickey had one of those way back. Bear wired it to about a dozen amplifiers. Peoples’ fillings were popping out of their teeth for a two-block radius. All the crullers exploded at a donut shop. We had to confiscate the thing for, you know, the greater good.”

“That’s the kind of story that should be in a book! Plus the sex stuff.”

“There’s not gonna be a book, and there’s definitely not gonna be any sex stuff.”

“Sex sells, Bobby.”

“Yeah, huh? Billy’s book had sex in it?”

“Tons!”

“How’d it sell?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Benj, I’m not writing a book.”

“Fine. Does Ratdog need a theremin player?”

“Actually, we do.”

“Great.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Is that you?”

“I take all of my calls on my watch or my hat.”

“Okay. Hold on.”

“Benjy here.”

“Hello, Benjy Jewish.”

“Who’s this?”

“Is Putin.”

“Putin from the Flaming Groovies?”

THWIP!

“Holy shit, someone just shot me in the neck with a blowdart! I hope the tip wasn’t pois–”

shlump

“Putin keeps promise.”

ЯUSSIAN PHONE NOISE

“Who this? How you get this number?”

“AH’M CRAFTY LIKE A PANTHER, POOTER!”

“Is not Pooter. Is Putin.”

“YOU SEE WHAT AH’M WEARIN’, BOY? RED, WHITE, AND BLUE. THASS AMERICA RIGHT THERE.”

“Red, white, and blue is also Russian colors.”

“GODDAMN, YOU COMMIE BASTARDS STEAL EV’RYTHING.”

“Cannot steal color. Color belong to everyone. Color is opposite of Ukraine. Ukraine belong to me.”

“UKRAINE IN TEXAS?”

“Nyet.”

“THEN AH DON’T GIVE A SHIT. IVAN, AH AM WARNIN’ YOU: YOU HAVE NO IDEA OF THE AWESOME POWER OF A FULLY-OPERATIONAL TIME CAPE. STAY IN YER IGLOO, OR YER HUT OR TEEPEE. WHATEVER TH’ HELL PEOPLE WHO AIN’T AMERICANS LIVE IN. AH HAVE NOT TRAVELED MUCH.”

“Come to Mother Russia. Is beautiful. You will be safe here. I promise.”

“YER TESTIN’ MAH PATIENCE, POOTER.”

“Is Putin.”

“COULD BE NOTHIN’ AT ALL, MAN. ‘MAGINE YER PARENTS DIDN’T MEET, OR WERE MURDERED BY JOE ESPOSITO. THASS TH’ KINDA THING TIME CAPES IS GOOD AT.”

“Putin not scared of you.”

“AH AM LESS SCARED O’ YOU TH’N YOU ARE O’ ME.”

“Is not possible. I have no scared at all. Cannot be less scared than none.”

“AND YET AH AM. AH AM A MATHEMATICAL WONDER.”

CALL WAITING NOISE

“THAT YOU ‘R ME?”

“Яussia not have call waiting yet.”

“YOU DRUNKEN GOBLINS REALLY SHOULD CATCH UP. AH’M GONNA TAKE THIS. SAY HI T’ THE OTHER FLAMIN’ GROOVIES FOR ME.”

“Putin is not in–”

DIAL TONE NOISE BECAUSE WHEN ELVIS HANGS UP A PHONE, IT MAKES THE RIGHT NOISE

“NEW PHONE, WHOOZIS?”

“Elvis? Hi. You don’t know me, but I’m a big fan.”

“WHO TH’ HELL IS THIS?”

“My name’s Benjy Eisen.”

“AH THOUGHT YOU JUST DIED.”

“I did.”

“YOU A GHOST?”

“No. I’m alive again.”

“HOW?”

“It’s never really been explained.”

“AH NOW ACCEPT YOU AS MAH SENSEI. YOU MUST TEACH TH’ KING HOW TO MASTER DEATH AND RETURN TO THIS LIVING WORLD, SO THAT AH MAY CONTINUE TO LET PEOPLE SEE HOW GREAT AH AM.”

“What?”

“AH WILL MOVE YOU TO GRACELAND TO BEGIN OUR STUDIES.”

“Really?”

“UH-HUH.”

“Okay, cool. Yeah, I’m a sensei. Let’s do this.”

“YOU WAN’ A CADILLAC?”

“Yes, I do.”

“BAM! YOU JUS’ GOT CADILLAC’D, BOY.”

“Nice. Elvis, how you fixed for management?”

“MAN, YOU GO SNIFFIN’ ‘ROUND THOSE PASTURES, YOU GET ANOTHER POSION DART IN YER NECK.”

“Okay.”

“DON’ MESS WITH TH’ COLONEL.”

“Elvis, I gotta tell ya: I did not see this ending coming at the beginning of the post.”

“TWISTS ‘N TURNS, THIS ONE HAD.”

Have You Seen This Man?

DESCRIPTION

NAME: Bobert Herbert Walker Weir.

ALIASES: Bobby, Bob, Helen Flatwater.

DOB: 10/16/47

HEIGHT: Inch or two shorter than he was ten years ago.

WEIGHT: 170, 180 w/beard.

SEX: So much more than you.

RACE: Is on, and-a here comes pride up the backstretch.

OCCUPATION: Rock Star, narrator of children’s books.

KNOWN ASSOCIATES: Snake Tee-Shirt, Red Metal Stool, Matt Busch.

REMARKS: Last seen in Daytona, Florida. May have access to a race car. Would be considered a flight risk, but he can’t even get into Canada without a massive hassle and nine strip searches, so he’s probably still in America.

CAUTION

SUSPECT SHOULD BE CONSIDERED ARMED AND DANGEROUS! Do not approach suspect without backup. Do not ask subject for an autograph if you don’t have a pen, because that’s just presumptuous. If subject kicks off his sandals, he is about to run.

Rushin’

You got up to a lot today.

“I stood in literally one place for ten minutes. It’s just that, you know, 85 people took pictures of me and it was on national teevee.”

True. Like the shirt. That’s some good self-promotin’.

“Not exactly out of place here, though. Ads all over everything.”

You should sell the tee-shirt rights to Jeff Chimenti this summer.

“Like, rent out his torso?”

Yeah.

“That could work, yeah. But, uh, what if the internet heard about it?”

Ooh, yeah. Hadn’t thought of that. He’d be wearing a “Hitler Did Nothing Wrong” shirt the first night. Good call.

“Never engage with the internet.”

Nope. Bobby?

“Yup?”

You the only person there wearing Birkenstocks?

“I haven’t seen everyone else’s feet yet.”

APPLE WATCH NOISE

“Got a call. Hold on a sec.”

“Weir here.”

“Яacecars are for girls.”

“Who’s this?”

“Is Putin.”

“Chuck Putin?”

“Nyet. Vladimir Putin.”

“Did you used to be in the Flaming Groovies?”

“Vat is Flaming Groovies?”

“Are you one of the kids’ teachers? My wife–”

“Natasha Monster, da.”

“–Natasha Monster usually handles that.”

“Nyet, is Putin. Your president.”

“Not my president.”

“Da. Is Electoral College.”

“Vote’s a vote.”

“Illegal voters.”

“Okay, yeah, are you calling for a reason?”

“Da. Ve have kompromat on Mr. Bobby Grateful. Ve show to Deadheads if you do not spy for us.”

“Laundromat?”

Kompromat.”

“Coprolith?”

“Blackmail. Is blackmail. Ve just say blackmail from now on.”

“Sure.”

“Now ve have leverage, Bobby Grateful. You belong to Putin!”

“Okee doke. So, uh, what kind of stuff you got?”

“Tapes.”

“Deadheads already have tapes, Buttons.”

“Putin. And not those kind tapes. Dirty tapes. Bobby Grateful and women.”

“Not outside the realm of possibility.  And, uh, what kind of things am I doing?”

“Is disgusting.”

“What?”

“Is so gross.”

“Well, now I’m interested.”

“The girls make the pee-pee on you.”

“Huh. Yeah, see the thing is…wait, I know what’s happening. You meant to call Billy.”

“Billy?”

“In those, uh, tapes you got: how’s my hair?”

“Not great.”

“Yeah, you want Billy. But just to save you some time, he’s not gonna care.”

“Ve vill see.”

“Okay. Say hi to the other Flaming Groovies for me.”

“Putin is not Flam–”

DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH WATCHES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE

“Where were we?”

I have no idea.

Speedway

“Randos.”

Well, obviously.

“On the, uh, on the way here I was convinced there wouldn’t be any Randos for me.”

There will always be Randos for you, Bobby.

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

You tell me.

“Depends on the day, really.”

Sure.

“Dunno why I was nervous. People here couldn’t be nicer. Tell ya what: you thought a Dead crowd had a lotta drugs on them, you should come to a race.”

Really?

“That infield’s like Alphabet City in 1975. I have been offered elephant tranquilizer by, like, nine people.”

Don’t take elephant tranquilizer, Bobby.

“LISSEN T’HIM, MAN. AH WANT YOU IN TIPPITY-TOP SHAPE FOR TH’ BIG RACE!”

Goddammit.

Elvis, get off the track.

“IF AH CANNOT KARATE WITH HAIRY GARCIA, THEN AH WILL RACE WITH HIS YOUNGER BROTHER BOB SEGER.”

I have no response to that statement.

“LOOK AT ALL THAT SISSY STUFF DRIVERS GOTTA WEAR. KING DON’T EVEN NEED NO HELMET.”

That’s because you’re on a soundstage in front of a rear projection screen.

“TH’ KING DOES ALL HIS OWN STUNTS! NOW STRAP THAT SANDAL-WEARIN’ HIPPIE INNA CAR!”

Stop yelling at me.

“THE CARS IS VERY LOUD!”

Oh, right.

“AH AM A BLACK BELT-LEVEL RACE DRIVER. TH’ OTHER NIGHT, AH RACED JOE ESPOSITO AN’ JERRY SCHILLING DOWN ELVIS PRESLEY BOULEVARD.”

And?

“IT IS NOT A CLOSED STREET. IN FACT, ISS A MAJOR THOROUGHFARE. CRASHED INTO A DANG FUNERAL PROCESSION.”

That’s terrible.

“THEY WAS ALREADY GOIN’ TO TH’ CEMETERY!”

“Don’t rationalize it.”

“RUBBIN’ IS RACIN’!”

Not on a public street.

“ISS MAH STREET! NOW GET BOB SEGER OUT HERE AN’ WAVE TH’ DINGDANG FLAG!”

His name’s not Bob Seger, and he does not race cars.

“I’ll race with you, Elvis.”

“PASS.”

Jesus, John.

“What?”

You’re coming across as very needy.

“I miss being part of storylines.”

Summer’s coming, buddy.

“I hate this universe.”

Burn Down The Indy, Gas The Daytona

You cause a commotion everywhere you go.

“I’m like Oprah.”

Not really.

“I feel like Oprah.”

You shouldn’t.

“Question.”

Shoot.

“Car’s vegan powered?”

Yes.

“How do they get the vegans in the fuel tank?”

I don’t think that’s what that means.

“And, you know, once the vegans are in the tank, then how do they tell people that they’re vegans?”

You’re completely misunderstanding this. The gas is made out of plant material.

“Are we talking about tofu farts?”

No.

“Cuz I love my sister-in-law, but after a couple helpings of quinoaloaf, she could clear out the room.”

Car doesn’t run on any kind of farts, Bobby.

“Well, then: what the hell does it run on?”

You can make gas out of corn or wheat or rice or bacteria or whatever. It’s just nowhere near as efficient as the gas made from dinosaurs.

“Huh. Why don’t you just use an electric car?”

You should. Internal combustion engines are 150 year old technology. But it’s a race. There’s rules.

“Sure, yeah, rules. Save your blue shell for when you really need it.”

You’re thinking about Mario Kart, Bobby.

“I may or may not have little to no idea what’s going on.”

Me, either.

Can you get up?

“If I wanted to.”

Okay.

I Like Your Smile, But I Ain’t Your Typo

Fifty fucking years, man. They’ve been around for fifty fucking years. My auto-correct won’t even allow me to type the word “Greatful,” mostly because it’s not a fucking word.

It’s like the Dead’s bush leagueosity rubs off on whoever’s in the area.

Or maybe Bobby was in a second band with almost but not precisely the same name as his first band. Wait, is the Greatful Dead a tribute band? Has Bobby been in his own tribute band this entire time?

The Race Is On

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“I dunno if you’ve ever met my sister-in-law–”

Lillian Monster.

“–Lillian Monster, but she’s a race car driver.”

I’ve heard.

“And, uh, she’s driving in Daytona. So, you know, I came down with the family. Met some nice people. I kept thinking I saw Billy all day.”

Why?

“Red baseball caps.”

Different kind of hat.

“I’ll say. This is, uh, not a Dead crowd. I don’t know if it’s the opposite, but it’s close. Lots of folks real sad about Sweden.”

Sure. You a racing fan at all?

“I’ve seen Cannonball Run a dozen times.”

Good enough.

“Just giving Lillian and her car a little bit of luck.”

The ol’ slap-a-Stealie-on-it routine?

“Well, think of it this way: if she doesn’t win, then she can still sell her car to Jim Irsay.”

Good thinking. Isn’t she worried that she’ll get pulled over with that sticker?

“I got a Jesus fish in my back pocket. Gonna stick it right next to the Stealie.”

Smart.

“I got my moments.”

Making Movies

Why are you back in Sundance?

“Forgot my glasses.”

They’re in your hand.

“Ah.”

You ever ski? Seems like your kind of thing.

“Silvered at Innsbruck in ’76.”

You did not.

“Giant slalom. They called me ‘No Fear’ Weir. You should’ve seen the size of my thighs.”

None of this is true.

“There was a good couple years where I was considering quitting the band and moving to a mountain. Be the pro, bang ski bunnies. Really tempting.”

Why didn’t you?

“Well, you know: I already lived on a mountain and banged ski bunnies. Seemed silly to take a pay cut.”

Question.

“Shoot.”

How come you never did any acting? You must have been asked once or twice.

“Yeah, they’ve asked. I was supposed to play Starsky. Or Hutch. One of ’em. But, you know: I’m not an actor.”

“THAT NEVER STOPPED ME NONE!”

Goddammit.

“AH HAVE FOLLOWED THE GRATEFUL DEAD VIA THE TIME CAPE AN’ THE LISA MARIE!”

Get out of here, shoo.

“DONTCHOO EVER SHOO NO KING, MAN! LUCKY AH’M WEARIN’ THESE HERE SKIS. AH WOULD KICK YER HEAD OFF YOUR SHOULDERS, AN’ THEN MAKE SONNY AN’ RED BUILD THE BOTTOM HALF OF A SNOWMAN, AN’ THEN AH’D STICK YER HEAD ON TOP. RIP YER NOSE OFF, STICK IN A CARROT. MAKE IT ALL PRETTY F’R THE NICE PEOPLE.”

Why are you always here lately? You showed up once in, like, five years and now you’re a regular.

“YOU ASKIN’ THE KING T’ EXPLAIN THAT MESSED-UP SWAMP YOU CALL A MIND?”

True.

“JUSS ROLL WITH IT. BE GLAD IN MAH GLORY.”

Sure. But you cannot–

“AH WANNA KARATE WITH HAIRY GARCIA!”

–karate with Hairy Garcia. He’s not here. Or there. Or then. Wherever and whenever you are? Garcia’s someplace and sometime else.”

“THEN WHO’S THAT FUZZY FELLOW?”

That’s Bobby.

“AH WILL DEFEAT HIM BEFORE AH FACE HAIRY GARCIA. HE WILL BE A LEVEL BOSS.”

Don’t fight Bobby, please. Hey, I know: tell me some Hollywood stories.

“ANN MARGARET GOT TWO BUTTHOLES.”

That’s not a story, and it’s not true, and it’s awful.

“HOLLYWOOD DOES NOT APPRECIATE MAH SPLENDOR. KEEP GIVIN’ ME THESE DING-DANG OL’ PIECES OF GARBAGE SCRIPTS, MAN. YOU KNOW WHAT MOVIE AH DID IN ’67? CLAMBAKE. YOU KNOW WHAT MOVIE CAME OUT IN ’67? GUESS WHO’S COMIN’ T’ DINNER. WHY CAN’T AH BE THE ONE COMIN’ T’ DINNER? THOSE FOLKS WAS SURPRISED WHEN THEY FOUND OUT A BLACK GUY WAS COMIN’ T’ DINNER, ‘MAGINE HOW SHOCKED THEY GONNA BE WHEN THEY FIND OUT AH AM THE GUEST.”

You have a point.

“1969, AH DID A PICTURE CALLED TH’ TROUBLE WITH GIRLS. CAME OUT SAME DAY AS EASY RIDER, MAN. WHY CAN’T AH BE IN EASY RIDER?”

What, the Peter Fonda part?

“NO, ONE OF THEM GUYS AT TH’ END WHO BEATS THEM HIPPIES T’ DEATH. AH’D PLAY THAT PART F’R FREE.”

Okay. Please don’t karate Bobby.

“MAH KARATE DOES WHAT IT WILL, AN’ THAT IS THE EXTENT OF ITS LAW, MAN.”

Sure.

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