Tag: dead50 (Page 5 of 7)

Hey, girls. I like that: ’89 was a great year.

“What?”

“Excuse me?”

“Huh?”

“Are you a cop?”

Alpine Valley, Hampton, Miami: stellar late-period runs.

…

“What?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You make no sense.”

“If you’re a cop, you have to tell us: it’s the law.”

The shows from 1989.

“How could there be shows from 1989?”

“Taylor Swift doesn’t have a time machine.”

“Do you think bands have time machines?”

“If you’re not a cop, do you have any coke?”

…

The Grateful Dead.

“No.”

“Ew, those hairy guys?”

“My uncle likes them.”

“If you don’t have any coke, then do you know someone who does?”

…

Y’know what: I am in the wrong parking lot. My mistake, so sorry. Enjoy Taylor.

“Whatever.”

“Bye, Felicia.”

“Toodles.”

“What about crystal meth? Got any of that?”

You look like a party.

“Movable feast, brother.”

Like your parasol.

“Sun’s a killer, plus I’m gender-fluid in regards to my accessories.”

What?

“Well, as you know, ‘parasol’ is a Spanish word meaning ‘ladies’ umbrella.'”

Yeah, I never got better than a B in Spanish, but I know that’s wrong.

“Who you gonna believe: the guy with the rug or the guy talking to himself on the internet?”

Not a bad point.

“I’m actually a trial attorney in real life.”

Okay.

Hey, puppy.

“HAI I LUV U.”

You having a good day?

“SMELLS! BUTTS, CROTCHES, STUFF, RABBITS. SMELLS.”

Okay.

“WALK. LONG WALK. GOOD. THE MAN. THE LADY. ROCKS ARE NOT FOOD.”

Sounds right.

“SIT. SIT IS GOOD. NAP. EAT ROCK. BAD.”

You forgot.

“EPISODIC MEMORY AND I LUV U.”

Love you, too, buddy.

“MUCH SMELL HERE. MORE SMELL HERE THAN ANYWHERE IN WORLD.”

I bet.

“SUN. GRASS AND SMELLS. MAN AND LADY. GOOD DAY.”

Hell, yeah, it is.

“GOOD DOG GOOD DAY.”

You got it.

…

“ROCK IS FOOD?

No.

“THANK U I LUV U.”

Hi.

“Oh, hey, man.”

Not you, hairmonster.

“Hey, brother.”

Cop a walk, dopesucker.

…

“Me?”

How are you this evening? Nice fedora: are you on Reddit?

“Are you a cop?”

Yes, and I’m going to arrest you for stealing my heart.

“I think I hate you.”

Nothing to think about.

“Yeah.”

…

You look like Jessica Biel before she fucked up her face.

“People tell me that.”

Can I smell your hair?

“Absolutely not.”

Okay.

We do not get our joy in the places built for it; you cannot find true happiness in churches, nor fulfillment in a gym.

Bars contain tragedy, and not so much light. Home is where the heart is, and hearts are for breaking.

I’ll take the stadium. The street corner. A back porch in July. I’ll take an open highway and a full tank of gas and a brand-new pair of truck stop Aviators.

This world requires you hunt down your joy, but it is worth the stalk.

Hey, kid.

“Hey.”

Got dragged here by your mom?

“Yeah. It’s cool, whatever: get to stay in a hotel.”

Staying in hotels is awesome.

“We hung out by the pool and I met this other kid and we played Pokemon.”

Charizard?

“Bulbasur.”

Solid pokemanning there.

“Yeah, I beat the kid. He wasn’t very good, but it was fun.”

Not much of a Deadhead, are you?

“They’re all right.”

Yeah?

“My mom really likes them.”

Yeah. What are you into?

“Drake. Video games.”

This might be the opposite of Drake and video games.

“Kinda. Why do all the songs last twenty minutes?”

Tradition, I guess.

“Oh.”

Listen, kid: you behave this weekend and your mom’s gonna hook you up. Trust me on this one.

“Okay.”

And when you get home, check out a band called Slayer if you need some time away from your mom.”

“Are they like Drake?”

…

Yes.

“Okay.”

Nice bus, man.

“Thanks, brother. All original.”

You’re shitting me.

“Nah, man: just like she rolled off the line. Except for the suspension.”

Ah.

“Kept dying on us, so we replaced it with two professional, sober-minded suspensions.”

Huh?

“Also, the engine died, so we replaced it with the guy from Phish.”

We’re done.