Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: george rr martin

A Song Of Cold Rain And Snow

May 3, 2019 / / 0 Comments

I see you there, George R.R. Martin.

“Zounds! My ruse is exposed!”

Stop talking like that.

“I like talking like that. Don’t hassle me, varlet.”

Why are you in 1970? Who gave you access to Time Sheath technology?

“Phil really wanted to know what happens in the next book.”

Dammit. Y’know, I’m starting to think it may have been a poor idea to give the Grateful Dead a time machine.

“Ah, that reminds me of some intrigue within House Winterdingus. The scion, Scabbard Fanix, had recently forced his eldest son, Bung, to eat himself. It was part of an enormous banquet, which I’ll now describe for twenty minutes.”

Stop it.

“There were porked bellies and platters of buttered finch–”

STOP IT.

“Ah, bite me, y’jealous loser.”

Not wrong. This photo is labeled 5/3/70* from Wesleyan University. Did you go there?

“No. Northwestern.”

Uh-huh. So, why did you go to a random show in the middle of Connecticut?

“When Phil gave me the Time Sheath, his instructions were less than precise. I was trying to go to the Battle of Agincourt.”

Sure. Last question.

“Shoot.”

Why aren’t you wearing your usual get-up? Where’s your hat? You love that hat.

“I’m in disguise. Otherwise, I get mobbed by fans.”

Sure. Hey, George?

“My liege?”

Try not to start a Time War.

“I can’t promise anything.”

 

*Just a partial tape.

Big R.R. Blues

April 15, 2019 / / 1 Comment

“Keep to thy stillness, good sir, I beseech thee; my magickal scrivening device captures the stern visage of the patriarch of House Weir!”

…

“What now?”

“Stop moving or the picture won’t come out right.”

“Ah. Hey, uh, loving the show. Great stuff. Everyone tells me I’m a Miranda.”

“That’s Sex in the City, Bobby.”

“And so much of it, too. Those ladies get some banging in.”

“I have nothing to do with Sex in the City. Not my show.”

“Were you Arliss?”

“I was not Arliss.”

“Big-time sports agent, that guy. Always getting into wacky situations. Lotta guest stars.”

“Nope. I write the books that Game of Thrones is based on.”

“Ah. Are there dragons in the book, too?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Hey, it’s Hollywood. They just add dragons into stuff.”

“True.”

“Just dragons?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Any other mythical creatures? What about griffins?”

“No griffins.”

“Jersey Devils?”

“No.”

“Hucklebucks?”

“I don’t know what they are.”

“Zentaur?”

“What’s a zentaur?”

“Half-man, half-zebra.”

“Not in the show. Pretty much just dragons and zombies.”

“Zombies?”

“I call ’em something different, but they’re pretty much just zombies.”

“So the show takes place in a mall that the main characters have turned into a fortress.”

“No. You’re talking about Dawn of the Dead.”

“You take that picture yet?”

The Elusion Of Peace

January 31, 2019 / / 5 Comments

“One, two, three, four–”

DON’T YOU DO IT, MOTHERFUCKER!

“–I declare a Rando War.”

Goddammit. Rando War is like the herpes of this site. So it makes sense you’re responsible.

“I don’t have herpes.”

Lie to randos, Josh, not me. You have at least one of every herpe. You collect watches, clothes, and herpes. You’re like that seed bank in Norway, but for herpes.

“I can’t hear you. I’m winning Rando War.”

“Rando War back on? We’re in.”

“Look at these randos! We got four. Beat that, Meyers!”

“Yeah, beat–”

“SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO, NEW BRENT!”

“Not in front of the randos, Mick.”

“You wanna keep flapping your gums, boy? You’re getting clogged!”

PERCUSSIONIST CHASING KEYBOARDIST WITH A PAIR OF ATTACK CLOGS NOISE

…

“Are, uh, we doing a Rando War?”

Bobby, that’s your family.

“Ah.”

Doesn’t count.

“Well, you know, they’re randos to somebody. Like Doctor J.”

What about Doctor J?

“He’d consider both women to be randos. He’d, uh, probably be nice to ’em ’cause they’re pretty, but they’d still be of the genus rand. So, uh, pretend I’m Doctor J.”

Absolutely not.

“Remember that ball we used to use in the ABA? The red, white, and blue one? Stylish ball.”

Stop it. You are not Doctor J.

“Oh, yeah. I can slam that rock. Put that biscuit in the gravy.”

“Does Bobby think he’s Doctor J again?”

Who’s that?

Oh, hey: it’s Bobby’s Parish, Matt Busch.

“That’s not my job title.”

It’s not wrong, though.

“No. Anyway, does Bobby think he’s Doctor J again?”

Yes.

“Dammit. Ah, well, it’s better than when he thought he was Marvin ‘Bad News’ Barnes.”

I didn’t know Bobby was so into the ABA.

“He’s obsessed with failed sports leagues. The ABA, the USFL, that soccer league that had Pele for a while in the 80’s.”

Wow. Never would’ve guessed. Oh, yeah: what are you doing here?

“Rando War.”

That’s George R.R. Martin. He writes the books with the snow and the zombies and the castles and all that shit.

“Sure, but he’s a rando to someone.”

NO. Not entertaining this stupid argument anymore.

“I win Rando War.”

Yes, you do.

“I’m a dog now.”

Yes, you are.

A Song Of Ice And Fire On The Mountain

April 26, 2018 / / 7 Comments

Jeff Chimenti looks terrible.

OR

Did Billy’s shirt stop rendering at his nipples?

OR

Either the rest of Dead & Company needs platform shoes, or we have to cut off Josh’s feet. This is just unaesthetic.

OR

Get yourself a big-boy pair of suspenders, Mork.

OR

“LITTLE POTATO! THAT MAN STOLE MY DRAGONS!”

“Jesus, ‘Ye, not now.”

“MY DRAGONS ARE THIS BIG.”

“Wouldn’t that make them just lizards?”

“DO NOT QUESTION MY SKILLS AT HERPETOLOGY, LITTLE POTATO!”

“I do not want to be called that.”

“PRESIDENT TRUMP SHOULD PUT ME IN CHARGE OF THE VA. I WILL HELP THE SOLDIERS WITH MY FREETHINKING AND DOPENESS!”

“Why hasn’t Kim had you tranked yet?”

“MY BODY REJECTS THE POTIONS!”

“I completely believe that.”

“TELL FATTY TO WRITE FASTER!”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

It’s A Thousand Pages, Give Or Take A Few

February 19, 2018 / / 0 Comments

Why are you wearing all-black. George R. R. Martin? You’re at a beach resort.

“Ah, my good sir! You’ve noted my ebon garb! It represents House Marghalis, who are–”

NO. No. No, no, no. I don’t care. Stop talking.

“You shan’t upbraid me with the all-too-cliched ‘Get back to writing, George,” shall you?”

Shit, no.

“A gentleman!”

It’s not that. I just don’t give a shit about The Dragonfucker Chronicles or whatever it is you write.

“You’re quite rude, you know.”

Shut up and go buy a bathing suit.

Game Of Seats

July 10, 2015 / / 0 Comments

georgerrmartinOkay, jackass: let’s go.

“Excuse me?”

Get up, Garcia. What did I tell you about that goddamn Time Sheath?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

Nice try: c’mon.

“My name is George R.R. Martin.”

Are you even trying? That’s clearly a fake name.

“Sir, I am best-selling author.”

Sci-Fi?

“I feel what I do transcends genre, but I supposePUT THE TASER AWAY.”

TZZZZZPPPZZZAMP

I told you I had no sense of humor about this particular tomfoolery. Now come help me find Brent: he’s in one of those bear suits.

“Please call an ambulance.”

Walk it off.

“I could barely walk before you tazed me: I’m not a particularly robust man.”

You never were.

“Again: I’m not Jerry Garcia.”

That’s what Garcia would say.

The Stacks

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