One night, Garcia played the Close Encounters theme, and fuck me if aliens didn’t show up.
(Sincerely, though: I love everything about this picture.)
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: donna jean godchaux (Page 10 of 15)
From straight to kinky, the Grateful Dead’s hair had it all!
(Coincidentally, “From straight to kinky” was tattooed on Brent’s chest in Gothic lettering and by the time you saw it, it was too late to wonder what it meant: Brent was going to show you.)
PLUS, Phil is checking out Dat Ass.
Mrs. Donna Jean got a little too into character and yelled at the crowd for ten minutes about the need to pay their fines, and that the student(s) caught defecating in the Young Adult section would be in a heap of trouble.
The strap sliding down Mrs. Donna Jean’s shoulder is killing it.
Lonely, buddy?
…
Little bit.
Sometimes, Mrs. Donna Jean liked to put on a kimono and easy skank.
Sometimes, Bobby and Garcia would join her. Not the kimono thing, though not from lack of trying on Bobby’s part. Garcia had to tackle him right before he got on the stage one night: Bobby was in the full M. Butterfly costume, with the little lips and the giant hair and the wooden shoes; he could only take four or five steps at a time without toppling over, anyway.
“No, Bobby! This band won’t be a party to your cultural appropriation!” Garcia said. “Check your privilege!”
“I won’t! I won’t check my privilege,” Bobby spat.
“You check that privilege, Mister. And give me the slide.”
I know it’s a small picture, but it’s a cruel lash of a world and we take what we can scratch out of the day; today’s bounty is this:
TotD gives you Mrs. Donna Jean in short shorts.
Keith didn’t wear those scarves, the road crew would drape them over him as a last-ditch attempt to keep him in the vicinity of upright.
PLUS the ultra-rare, post-hiatus Garcia pigtails.
Having been the last one to touch his face, Garcia had to do the dishes that night.
Mrs. Donna Jean didn’t twerk, nor did she back that thang up. Didn’t have much of a thang, to be honest about it.
No belly shirts, certainly not thongs. Although: maybe thongs; Mrs. Donna Jean wore her underwear under her clothes. She was not ratchet.
But yet she was no basic bitch: Mrs. Donna Jean left a scorched Earth of crashed luxury cars, empty pill bottles of horse tranquilizer, and flowy patterned skirts.
And she did it backwards, in heels.
Mrs. Donna Jean was a rock star in the 70’s, which is the most rock star that rock stars ever got. She didn’t sleep with Bobby: Bobby slept with her.
This picture couldn’t be more ’72 if it were of Nixon dunking McGovern’s head in the toilet and blaming it on outside agitators and the Jews.
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