Bobby thought the guy in back was Billy all afternoon; if we’re honest, so did Garcia.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: bob weir (Page 64 of 198)
That’s some good Dead shirt-wearin’, Bobby.
“Mickey taught me everything I know.”
He may have taught you too well.
“The master becomes the apprentice.”
If you say so. Are you guys rehearsing?
“Yeah, how could you tell?”
Billy isn’t there.
“He may be avoiding the mainland for a while.”
Good idea.
“You bet. So, uh, Dead still a part of this?”
I’m talking to you, aren’t I?
“Sure.”
What now?
“Vote.”
We did that. It did not work.
“Then keep voting. Gotta do it every single day. Make it a routine.”
I think you’re talking about going to the gym.
“That’s important, too.”
Tell Jeff Chimenti to put away his drugs.
…
Jeff is the piano player.
“Ah.”
Hey, Ramblin’ Jack. Whatcha doing?
“Same thing I been doing for 65 years.”
Singing cowboy tunes?
“Yup.”
85 years old.
“Yup.”
Lemme ask you something: this the worst you’ve seen the world?
“Ever read a history book, son?”
Yes.
“So, you wanna retract that question, or just leave it sit as a monument to stupidity?”
I see your point.
“Everything’s better now than it used to be. Easier. Maybe too easy, but that’s another conversation.”
Except the air and the water.
“You know rivers used to burst into flames for no reason, right?”
Uh-huh.
“Now they don’t.”
Guess we can thank Nixon for that one.
“Smaller that guy gets in the rearview, the better he looks.”
Well said, Ramblin’ Jack.
“Ain’t gonna be no revolution, kid. The dumb folks are too lazy and the smart folks are otherwise occupied.”
“SHHH!”
Excuse me?
“Ahh, that ain’t me.”
“SHHH!”
Bobby Tee-Shirt, stop shushing people.
“SHHH!”
FUCK YOU, SHIRT!
“SHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
FUCK YOUUUUUUUU, SHIRT!
…
“Bob?”
“Yeah, Ramblin’ Jack?”
“Your shirts often come to life and get into arguments with offscreen narrators?”
“Quite a bit, yeah. Are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?”
“Putin involved in this thing now?
Just visiting.
“Uh-huh.”
Rando’s touching the problem shoulder.
“It’s, uh, a lot better. Up to par, up to snuff. On an even keel with Righty.”
You named your shoulders?
“No, I call my shoulders by their names.”
I see the distinction. Glad to hear about the shoulder. What’d you do?
“At first?”
We know what you did at first. It’s on YouTube. What have you been doing for it lately?
“Ah. The ancient Indian art of chutney.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not it, but what are talking about?
“You trace a mandala in the air in the disappearing orbit of motion: not just gone, but never quite there in the first place.”
The thing where you swing the clubs around?
“Yeah, that.”
Oh, I thought you were learning to juggle.
“No, I learned that in the bunkhouse.”
So much happened to you that summer.
“Crazy characters, wild tales. But, yeah: one of the guys in there knew all that clown stuff: juggling, and fire-eating, and pickpocketing. Name was Patches.”
Wait, I thought Patches was the blind cowboy.
“Yeah, uh-huh. But that Patches died within hours of leaving the bunkhouse for the first time. And, you know: can’t let a great nickname like that just sit fallow.”
Okay.
“Great guy the second Patches. Escaped from the circus.”
You don’t have to escape from the circus, Bob.
“He did.”
Right.
“Really a superb guy. Didn’t last long, though. You know the trick where all the clowns come out of the little car?
Of course.
“Can’t substitute a horse for the car. Angers the horse.”
I would bet. This Patches died, too?
“He lived through the stomping. Strong work ethic, circus folk. Back at work the next day. Unfortunately, he was mysteriously mauled to death by a tiger that afternoon.”
Where’d the tiger come from?
“That’s why it was mysterious.”
Right.
“Went to his funeral. Traditional clown service: the wreath squirted water at ya, all the balloon animals were black, whole deal.”
Sounds moving.
“Pallbearers wore their squeaky shoes, though.”
Tough to maintain composure.
“You bet.”
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Looking at a picture.”
What of?
“Boobies.”
Blue-footed?
“I can’t see the feet, but the nipples aren’t blue.”
Good talk.
Where are you? And why are you in black and white?
“Backstage. And you know why I am in black and white.”
Are you sad?
“I’m a lot of things right now.”
Sore?
“Yes. Yes, sore. Muscles got used that don’t usually become involved during lovemaking.”
Lovemaking? That was not what that seemed like.
“Freddie Mercury is a charismatic man.”
I’m glad you got into it. Why are you backstage?
…
“I needed a minute.”
Sure. John?
“Yeah?”
Did he?
“What?”
Did he?
“What?”
Rock you?
“What?”
Rock you.
“Yeah.”
See? We have so much fun.
“We don’t, really. I just wanted–”
To take drugs and see a band. Yeah, yeah: everybody gets your motivation, John. What happened to your unicorn outfit?
“Laundry.”
Jesus, you just couldn’t wait to wash that thing, could you?
“No. No, no. It truly needed washing.”
Oh.
“Many stains.”
Sure.
“Pre-soaking right now.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
“The Johnicorn.”
“Uh, hi. I’m, uh, looking for Jimi Tee-Shirt?”
“What? Bobby?”
“No, not Bobby.”
“This is Bobby Tee-Shirt. I’d, uh, like to speak to my best friend, Jimi Tee-Shirt.”
“He’s not available.”
“Hey, cat! Is that my groovy friend Bobby Tee-Shirt? Slide me that telephone so we can rap!”
…
“None of this makes any sense.”
Oh, nothing makes any sense any more. At least my bullshit has jokes.
“Now all you have to do is make ’em funny.”
Sure, sure: keep digging your own grave. You have no idea how many people dressed up as Freddie Mercury to go to that show.
“A lot?”
You should start drinking.
“Dammit.”
“We’re back with John Mayer on the Radio Randy Rock and Roll Roundup.”
“Wait. Is this the selfie we were taking in the other picture?”
“Looks like.”
“How many pictures got taken of me?”
“Almost as many as you took of you.”
“That’s a lot.”
“You enjoy yourself. Can we talk about the upcoming solo record?”
“Randy, can we do this later?”
“We’re live on the air, John. This is very unprofessional of you, and I expect more from a unicorn. We have a caller, Bobby in Vegas. Oh, you’ve called before. Welcome back to the show.”
“I’ve been listening since the last time I called, and I’m, uh, just hooked. Great radio. Real, uh, theater of the mind-type stuff. Middle America, real people. I like that detective character, Guy Noir.”
“Bobby, you’re thinking of a Prairie Home Companion.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
…
“Is this Mike or the Mad Dog?”
“Hang up the phone, Radio Randy.”
“John says I have to go, Bobby.”
“You bet. Seriously, though: get me when Elvis shows up.”
DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE
“John–”
“How the hell are we taking calls?”
“–I have a few more questions.”
“I don’t want to take any more questions.”
“They’re about laundry.”
“I will take as many questions as you have.”
“Blow our minds, John Mayer.”
“Hand-washing in a sink is a completely different beast than hand-washing in a tub. It has something to with water density and bubble viscosity. I’ve invented several differential equations to explain it.”
“You’ve blown our minds, John Mayer.”
“Don’t speak for everyone.”
“You’ve blown my mind, John Mayer.”
“I’ve written up my findings for the Journal of the American Laundry Association.”
“JALA?”
“You read it?”
“I subscribe. They just pile up.”
“Worth your time, Radio Randy. Cutting edge of clean.”
“John, what about pre-soaking?”
“Ooh, that’s a touchy subject in the laundry community. And, quite frankly, it’s a personal subject and I’d rather not get into my personal life.”
“I didn’t mean to pry. Let’s talk about something less intimate.”
“Thank you.”
“Sources are saying you plowed Demi Lovato.”
“Plowing’s for skanks. Demi Lovato is a celebrity. You bang celebrities.”
“Bang her?”
“Shit, yeah.”
HIGH FIVE
“Butt stuff?”
“Started with butt stuff.”
DOWN LOW
“So now you’ll marry her in the church?”
“You know I…what now?”
TOO SLOW
“You have to get married, or you’ll burn in hell.”
“I’m sorry, where is this coming from?”
“The Bible.”
“I meant the direction the conversation is going.”
“Lonely weirdo in Florida. We have another caller.”
You stop talking shit about me, you little asshole.
“Fuck you, TotD!”
Fuck YOU, Radio Randy!
DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH YOU KNOW HOW THIS SENTENCE ENDS
“You know it’s TotD, man. Stop answering the phone.”
“No one calls that guy on his bullshit.”
“Sure, but it’s not good to antagonize him.”
“No? What’s he gonna do?”
KARATE!
“Send Elvis to kick you in the head.”
“AH HAVE MADE MAH LONG-AWAITED ENTRANCE, AND BROUGHT A ROLLING STONE!”
“I’m not a Rolling Stone, darling. John Mayer. We meet again.”
“Weren’t there five of you?”
“There can be only one.”
“Great. Elvis, I think you killed Radio Randy.”
“TALK SHIT, GET HIT.”
“Fuuuuuuuuck–”
…
“–yooooouuuuuuu…”
DEATH RATTLE NOISE
…
“Yeah, you killed Radio Randy.”
“DEATH DON’T SEEM ALL TOO PERMANENT ‘ROUND HERE. DON’T YOU WORRY ‘BOUT HIM.”
“Take off your trousers, John.”
“Stop it, Freddie.”
“JOHHNY BOY, LEMME ASK YOU A QUESTION.”
“Sure.”
“YOU SEEN THAT NUKE ANYWHERE?”
“The one you lost a month ago in a storyline that just wandered around making no sense until it fizzled out with Lady Gaga’s appearance?”
“THAT ONE, YEAH.”
“No. No. No. No. We’re not doing this again.”
“Just the shirt, then. Take off your shirt, John.”
“Freddie, come on.”
“Upon what shall I come, darling?”
“Stop it. I’m not a part of whatever the two of you are up to. I want to take drugs and see a band. Leave me alone. Y’know what? Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I’m leaving . It’s all ruined, and I’m leaving and–”
“What the fuck is this?”
Phantom Zone ring.
“Like what they did to Zod in Superman II?”
Yup.
“That’s FUCKED! You’re fucked, man!”
You ain’t going anywhere.
“I will get you for this! You will kneel before me! YOU WILL KNEEL BEFORE JOHN!”
Okee-dokee, artichokee.
“JOHN!”
…
“What if I have to use the bathroom?”
Should’ve thought of that.
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Really?”
You will see that you have brought this call onto yourself.
“Goddammit.”
…
“The Johnicorn speaking.”
“Didn’t I say to tell me when Elvis showed up?”
“Dammit. I forgot, Bob. Sorry.”
“One thing I ask you to do.”
“Sorry.”
“Fucker owes me $320.”
“For what?”
“Grown-up stuff, Josh. Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you mad?”
“I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
…
“I just wanted to take drugs and see a band.”
“Well, I guess no one gets what he wants today, huh?”
“Aww.”
There’s just so much of you.
“Don’t use me as filler.”
What?
“I heard what you said to Josh.”
How?
“Don’t worry about it. I am, you know: a Grateful goddamned Dead. I’m not the chimp act that gets trotted out between sets.”
Mr. Jiggs?
“Yeah. Good guy, Jiggs. Still alive.”
He did that show with you 40 years ago. How is that possible?
“Medical miracle. Well, actually, a veterinary miracle. We still keep in touch.”
Yeah?
“Billy adopted him.”
Adopted?
“‘Kidnapped’ would be the more correct word, I suppose. ‘Stole,’ maybe. He sat in for Drums a couple of times.”
How’d that go?
“Poorly. Y’see, Mickey–”
Dosed Mr. Jiggs.
“–dosed Mr. Jiggs, and it turns out chimps don’t handle acid nearly as well as horses do.”
Mickey should stop giving animals LSD.
“Leopard can’t change its spots.”
…
“Unless, you know: Mickey gives it enough acid.”
There ya go.
Are you scared of Halloween?
“It’s the spookiest holiday.”
No other holiday is even slightly spooky.
“Valentine’s Day seems to frighten people.”
Sure. How did the Dead celebrate Halloween?
“Well, you know: we didn’t. See, for some people to go out dancing, other people like us gotta work.”
Right.
“Bands are like bartenders and strippers: we can only work when everyone else isn’t.”
Perks are good, though.
“I wasn’t complaining.”
Y’know, most guys have never had a strange woman look at them like that.
“I’m not most guys.”
True.
“Joined the circus at 16. Plus, you know: Neal Cassady taught me how to shave.”
You have been a rock star for 75.81% of your life.
…
“Really?”
Did the math.
“Do I win?”
I don’t think it’s a contest.
“Is now. Who’s got the greatest life percentage of rock-stardom? 75 percent is up there.”
It’s up there.
“I gotta be in first place.”
Could be. Wait, no: Stevie Wonder.
“Ah. He started real young.”
Little Stevie.
“Didn’t even take a summer to be a cowboy.”
I don’t think Stevie Wonder could have been a cowboy, Bobby.
“There were a lot of black cowboys.”
Very true. Not so many blind ones.
“You’d be surprised. I bunked next to a blind cowboy on the ranch, Patches.”
Patches?
“Wore two eye-patches like a double pirate.”
Sure.
“Lost both eyes in a poker game. Some guys shouldn’t gamble.”
How did he cowboy if he was blind?
“Poorly. If I’m honest. And, y’know, not to speak ill of the dead.”
He died?
“First day he was there, before lunch. Not a place for a blind man.”
Nope.
“SHH!”
…
Bobby, did you just “shh” me?
“No, no.”
“SHH!”
“I think it’s the me on my shirt.”
Goddammit.
“SHH!”
Shut the fuck up, shirt! Who said you get a speaking part?
“Snake T-Shirt does!”
Leave him out of this!
“SHH!”
Fuck you, shirt! Shirts don’t tell me what to do!
“SHH!”
FUCK YOU!
…
“Bob?”
“Yes, attentive rando?”
“Is your shirt arguing with God?”
“Kinda. Are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?”
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