The rarest Grateful Dead pepe of all: Bearded Mickey, Bearded Bobby, Gettin’ Phat Phil.
And as I always mention: Bearded Mickey is terrifying. Like if Satan went to rabbinical school.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: bob weir (Page 70 of 198)
Number four, the first one in the second row, that one makes me sad: Phil and Billy used to be friends, or at least buddies, or at least friendly enough to drunkenly paw at one another during photo shoots.
Plus, if you read the images as a story, then the story is about Mickey enjoying cocaine.
“Weir, knock it off.”
“I’m gonna take it out, Jer.”
“I didn’t mean to finish doing the hokey-pokey. I meant to stop doing it entirely.”
“I gotta shake it all about, Jer.”
“You really don’t, Bob.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Oh, hey. I didn’t see you there over the scent of freshness and nature.”
What is this?
“Well, as you know, Josh Meyers has launched a new line of laundry products–”
The Laundress X John Mayer Collection.
“–and he just inspired the heck outta me. On tour this summer, he got a ten-year old scotch stain out of Snake T-Shirt. He was like some sort of magician, you know?”
Some sort.
“And what Josh is doing is interesting and I dig it, but I wanted to go back to laundry’s roots.”
What?
“Much like my new album–”
“–explores a more vintage era, so too does my laundry. Music made by hand, laundry done by hand. Simple. Pure.”
Time-consuming.
“Yeah, you bet. Took me five hours to get these sheets up.”
That seems a bit long.
“They were fighters.”
Sure.
“When you wash your clothes the natural way, the way our ancestors did for thousands of years, then you just feel closer to nature. Literally close, since you’re on your knees on a riverbank. I actually got my clothes dirtier that way.”
Seems like a bad plan.
“So I used my pool.”
You have a pool?
“I used Phil’s pool.”
Ah.
“But I took a rock from the river to bang the clothes against, so it was kinda authentic. Then Jill started yelling at me and I had to stop. I took everything over to Billy’s laundromat, but he was sticking his dick in the change machine, so I came home and had the maid do it.”
Right.
“Other than that: total old-school. Hung up everything. Got these doohickeys here. They’re pins, and they hold the clothes up.”
Clothespins.
“If you say so. Like I said: vintage. There was a Comanche attack.”
There wasn’t a Comanche attack, Bobby.
“Thing about this natural drying system is that it doesn’t take much longer than a machine.”
That’s not true at all.
“It is, yeah, just for very limited circumstances. Hanging out your laundry in Death Valley is way faster than the dryer.”
What about those of us that don’t live in Death Valley?
“Way slower. And, you know: you hang up your clothes and the second you turn your back, an escaped convict sneaks through your yard and steals a pair of pants and a shirt. Happened twice already today. One even took the pie my wife, Natasha Monster, had placed on the windowsill to cool.”
Pie-stealing bastard.
“Right? In the old days, they’d string you up for stealing a man’s pie.”
I don’t think they would.
“The really old days.”
Yeah, okay.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Didn’t we just do this?”
You’re a very popular character.
“I’m the Garcia now, yeah.”
Bobby, may I ask you some questions?
“I don’t know: can you?”
Yes.
“Then, yeah. Sure.”
Favorite part of doing the laundry?
“I was always fond of the word ‘hamper.'”
What is laundry to you?
“A word that almost rhymes with foundry.”
How do you make laundry an enjoyable task?
“Pass.”
What’s your laundry pet peeve?
“When people don’t use their turn signals.”
Laundry pet peeve, Bobby.
“They might be going to the dry cleaners.”
Sure. What’s your proudest laundry victory?
“So many to choose from, y’know? Got spicy mustard out of Snake T-Shirt once, that was a pretty sweet day. Oh, wait: my shorts. There were a lot of stains. Let’s just leave it vague. Lotta stains.”
What is your favorite Laundress product?
“Le Labo Santal 33 Signature Detergent. Hands down.”
Excellent choice.
“I’m particular about fragrances: smells get stuck in my mustache.”
Right. What did you used to be afraid to wash?
“Other men’s testicles.”
Why?
“They’ll hit you.”
Sure. What’s something we may not know about laundry at the Weir house?
“It’s, um…it’s just regular laundry.”
Washer, dryer.
“Some stuff gets sent out. You know: laundry. Not that much to think about.”
You’d think.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Rando time.”
She get you a present?
“Apparently.”
I’m on the fence about how appropriate that gift is, though.
“Complicated emotions, yeah.”
…
What’s in your pocket, buddy?
“Gotta go.”
Sure.
“Are you sure I can’t get you a Pabst Blue Ribbon, Cobra Commander?”
“Commander Kelly, Bob. And please call me Scott.”
“They’re delicious, and all the youngsters seem to guzzle ’em like water.”
“I’m not much of a drinker, Bob.”
“Doobie?”
“No, thanks.”
“Dab?”
“No.”
“Little tootski?”
“Bob, I’m an astronaut: I don’t want any tootski.”
“Just being polite. So lemme ask you: it’s the International Space Station, right?”
“Sure, the I in ISS, right.”
“So, uh, does that mean it’s like international waters, and anything goes up there? Could you gamble?”
“Not that kind of ‘international,’ Bob.”
“So you couldn’t murder anyone and get away with it?”
“No.”
“How many astronauts are up there at a time?”
“Three or four, usually.”
“And how many roadies does each astronaut have?”
“None. An astronaut is his own roadie, Bob.”
“Huh. Not for me, then.”
“I’ll let NASA know.”
Thank God, Enthusiasts. You thank Him right the fuck now: get on your knees, or wash your feet, or wrap your forearms in fetish gear; whatever your religion–which is the correct one–tells you to do in order to interface the Most High. Write a card, a tasteful appreciation, to the Lord; use your best pen; not on a legal pad, you classless butt. Thank whichever God does it for you, for I have at last found something to bitch about in this review of Bobby’s new album of cowboy tunes Blue Mountain by the great Jesse Jarnow.
It was tough, I’ll give you that: the review is well-written, and Jobble Jibble–
Stop that.
–knows what he’s talking about, and draws special attention to Bobby’s singing; plus, it’s a glowing, if measured, review for a solo album by a Grateful Dead in Pitchfork. That’s downright subversive. (Don’t worry: The National gets mentioned, because if you write about the Dead in Pitchfork without referencing The National, then someone comes to your house and takes away your new Bon Iver vinyl.)
But I found it.
Maybe you can’t see it. Look closer.
EXPLAIN PLEASE.
I linked to this while it was happening, but here’s the video: Bobby, aided by Josh Kaufman, playing tunes cowboy and otherwise at the legendary Amoeba Records in Los Angeles. Here’s the set list:
Intro 0:01
Walkin’ Blues 0:45
When I Paint My Masterpiece 7:35
Blue Mountain 14:40
Only a River* 20:20
Lay My Lily Down* 27:20
Peggy-O (traditional)* 33:30
Ki-Yi Bossie* 40:15
Go and watch it, or at least listen. I’ve mentioned this before, but–unlike just about every other rock star his age–Bobby can still sing like a shaggy angel. Check out Masterpiece: he nails the high(ish) notes with the strength of a 28-year-old, but the precision of a 68-year-old.
Plus–and this will sound like heresy–he does Peggy-O better than Garcia. There, I said it. Don’t argue with me until after you watch Bobby’s version.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Dreaming of the Hostility Suite.”
Sure.
“It was a fun time. Youthful exuberance, and kicky romps, and there would be a cold cut platter. It was actually a lot like one of those Deadhead networking parties for Wall Streeters.”
Really?
“Well, there was a lot of coke.”
Sure. So, did the guys each have a type they went for?
“Billy liked ’em skanky.”
Right.
“The skank thing is not new with him, y’know? He’s always been a skank man. Some guys like redheads, other guys like ’em curvy; God bless him, Billy likes ’em skanky. Guy plays drums, punches dick, and plows skank: there’s a purity to him.”
Okay.
“He’s kinda like Tarzan.”
How so?
“He runs around naked and yells a lot.”
Can we stop talking about Billy?
“Mickey liked his women female.”
That’s it?
“Present.”
Sure.
“The two of them would wait for me choose my three or four girls and leave. Then…wow. You ever see hyenas take down a wounded gazelle?”
So fast.
“From what I’ve been told, when I would leave the Hostility Suite, the mood would change like in From Dusk To Dawn when everyone in the bar turns into a vampire.”
The old days.
“Here’s to ’em.”
…
She’s gettin’ in there. Little boob-pressin’ going on.
“Knock it off.”
© 2026 Thoughts On The Dead
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
Recent Comments