Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: bob weir (Page 59 of 198)
Bobby.
“Bobcommandante Marcos, please.”
No. Bobby, take that thing off and stop leading Zapatistas.
“They are my people.”
They’re not. Do you even speak Spanish?
“I understand it fluently.”
Bob, don’t defend the indigenous peoples of Chiapas?
“If not me, who?”
Literally anyone. Take that thing off your head and go back to the resort.
“Yeah. Gonna liberate it.”
Don’t liberate anything, Bobby. Go play guitar.
“The guitar of freedom.”
Whatever.
Up-to-the-minute Grateful Dead news: Phil is playing at TXR, and Billy is playing in Mexico. Bobby has not appeared onstage yet. Please begin wildly speculating.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Bunny ears.”
Nice.
“It’s a, uh, it’s a classic. Can’t go wrong with ’em.”
Probably shouldn’t do it to the Pope.
“Course not. He’s got that enormous hat. What would be the point?”
Right.
“I gotta be honest with you here: Loni Anderson looks way different in person than she does on teevee.”
Not Loni Anderson, Bobby.
“Still cute, but I don’t wanna be stepping on Burt Reynolds’ toes.”
Not her.
“I guess the blonde hair is a wig, huh? You think her and Burt go to the same place?”
…
Laurie Anderson.
“Who?”
She’s a singer.
“Oh. Well, she should have Johnny Fever play some of her songs. Be a boost to the career.”
Good chat. Tell the guy taking the picture to leave Jackie Onassis alone.
“You bet.”
Mickey stood there for ten minutes waiting for Bobby and Woody to start talking about drums so he’d have a conversational in, but it never came.
“Good evening everyone out there listening to SiriusXM. You’re tuned in to Channel 23: the Grateful Dead Channel. This is Radio Randy on the air live from the Sundance Film Festival where Bob Weir, along with Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzmann, will be premiering their new four-hour documentary about the Dead’s career. Bobby, thanks for being here.”
“You bet. Josh told me Elvis killed you.”
“He did. Bobby, tell us about the movie.”
“A trio of disgraced professors go into business for themselves busting ghosts.”
“I should have been more specific. Tell us about your movie.”
“Same answer.”
“If you were a woodland creature, what would you be?”
“Elk.”
“Good call.”
“Majestic, but fearsome.”
“Is the altitude at the festival affecting you?”
“No, but the longitude is killing me.”
“Bobby, the Radio Randy show on SiriusXM Channel 23 has a lot of younger listeners. What advice do you have for them?”
“Pony isn’t a baby horse. It’s not gonna get bigger, and you’re not gonna make your investment back entering it into the Kentucky Derby. Trust me on this one.”
“Wisdom.”
“And, uh, conversely: there’s no such thing as a teacup pig. Not a thing. Just not a thing. Pigs get goddamned enormous. Again: trust me on this one.”
“I will.”
“And, you know, you gotta take care of the thing or your bullhorn-toting, bacon-hating, racecar-driving human picket line of a sister-in-law–”
“Lilian Monster.”
“–will make your life miserable. 500 pounds! Don’t get me wrong, I love the sucker, but he’s eating me out of house and home.”
“What’s the pig’s name, Bob?”
“The girls named him.”
“What’s the pig’s name, Bob?”
“Humperdink.”
“That’s adorable.”
“Not worth the effort. Billy keeps trying to steal him and have a luau.”
“We’re learning a lot about life, the Grateful Dead, and inadvertent pet ownership here on the Radio Randy show.”
“Did you steal that microphone?”
“Yes. You want to take a call?”
“Why not?”
“This is a blocked caller who says his name is none of my business. Hello?”
“привет, гомосексуалисты.”
“Look what Putin have.”
“Give that back!”
“No, Яadio Яandy. Is for Putin. America is for Putin. All for Putin now.”
“Damn you, Putin!”
“Putin win. Ha ha ha. Putin number one. Grateful Dead number zero.”
“BASTARD!”
ТЕЛЕФОН ШУМА ХОТЯ ТЕЛЕФОНЫ НЕ ДЕЛАЙ, ЧТО БОЛЬШЕ
“I’m sorry you had to hear that, Bobby.”
“I’m not wearing headphones. I didn’t hear any of that.”
“For the best. Tell the audience what your hopes are for the movie.”
“I just want the movie to be happy, get married.”
“Do you cross-country ski, Bob?”
“No, I fly.”
“This is great stuff on the Radio Randy show. How about another call?”
“How about it?”
“We have a call from Los Angeles. It’s John. John in Los Angeles, how are you? Welcome to the show. You’re talking to Radio Randy and Bob Weir.”
“What the fuck, Radio Randy?”
“Oh, hey! It’s John Mayer, ladies and gentlemen. Bobby’s bandmate from Dead & Company. This is great. Bob, I have John on the line.”
“Who?”
“It’s Josh, Bobby.”
“Oh, hey, Josh.”
“Hi. Radio Randy, I’m in the SiriusXM studios. We had an interview scheduled.”
“Oh, gee, sorry. Listen, I’m sorry. Why don’t you take some pens?”
“I don’t need pens. This is unprofessional as hell, man.”
“You’re right. Sorry. Take some post-it notes, too.”
“I don’t need any–”
“Stapler. Take a stapler.”
“–post-it notes. Are you trying to buy me off with office supplies?”
“Nooooo. NO. No.”
…
“All the rubber bands. Take them and do with them what you will.”
“Don’t call me any more, Radio Randy.”
“Don’t get me killed by Elvis any more, pretty boy.”
“FUCK YOU, RADIO RANDY!”
“FUCK YOU, JOSH MEYERS!”
“YOU DON’T GET TO CALL ME THAT! ONLY BOBBY GETS TO CALL ME THAT!”
“Hey, Josh.”
“Hey, Bobby.”
DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE
“Bobby, do you have any last thoughts before we go?”
“We must destroy Carthage.”
“This is Radio Randy for SiriusXM Channel 23 singing off. Good night, human kindness; wherever you are.”
Here’s what Bobby’s thinking: These two? Not the other two? These two I’m stuck with for the rest of my life?
OR
“Where’s that redhead go?”
“I dunno, Bill.”
“Could we fly some indigenous peoples in?”
“Why, Mickey?”
“To drum on.”
“Ask me later.”
“Aw, c’mon. That always means no.”
“Knock it off, Mick.”
“Who died and made you Garcia?”
“Garcia.”
“Oh, right.”
“Where am I?”
A mountain.
“I’m home?”
Different mountain.
“I only live on one.”
Sundance, Bobby. The movie premiere.
“Did I do porn again?’
Again?
“Forget I said that. Wait. Documentary.”
Right.
“How many documentaries they gonna make about me?”
You’re fascinating.
“You bet. Hey, question.”
Shoot.
“Why am I jamming with Meatloaf?”
Not Meatloaf. John Popper.
“I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”
You took the words right out of my mouth.
And then there was that time in 1968 when Bobby lost both arms trying to hug a thresher shark.
The Core Four is back, Enthusiasts.
OR
When Bobby was a young man, his parents were murdered by a camera in a mugging outside a movie theater; this explains why he looks at them this way now.
OR
“Thoughts on my Ass!”
Hey, Billy.
“Skaaaaaaaaank.”
Stop that. She looks lovely and respectable.
“This is a film festival. No one here is respectable.”
Yeah, okay.
“Ginger skank.”
Stop it.
“Great thing about redheads is that you can bring ’em around your color-blind friends and they don’t get hit on.”
Color-blind people can see redheads, Billy.
“Not from my experience. Weir’s cockblocking me here a little, though.”
Don’t hit on her.
“She got chest freckles, man.”
Still.
“Gonna give her a log flume.”
…
“Gonna give her a log flume.”
…
“Gonna give–”
What’s a log flume, Billy?
“Everything’s real gentle at first, and then I go down without warning.”
We’re done.
“Winter of Skank!”
Dammit.
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