Hey, Garcia. Wearing your blanket again?
“Yup. The 60’s are cold, man.”
I’m pretty sure that makes no sense.
“Well, who ya gonna believe: the dead guy wearing the blanket or the guy talking to him?”
Excellent point.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: jerry garcia (Page 69 of 139)
The neat thing about this particular photo is that, as you stare at it, it goes from being a picture of Garcia to a picture of Garcia’s wax figure and back.
TotD brings you rare photos all the time: there was that candid snap of Mickey and Billy double-teaming Loni Anderson; I recall a picture of Ned Lagin in which every time you looked at it, Ned Lagin got closer to you; Bobby running down the street screaming, naked and covered in napalm.
but a picture of Garcia and a cigarette where he’s not the one smoking it? That’s rare, man.
Hey, Garcia. Nice shorts.
“I borrowed ’em from Mickey.”
That makes sense. Where’re your ankles?
“Forgot ’em at the hotel.”
Sure.
Hey, Garcia. Whatcha doing.
“Being reincarnated as an Afghan Hound.”
Cool. How’s that going for ya?
“I gotta tell ya: it’s the tits, brother. I can lick my own asshole.”
What about the taste?
“What about the taste? I’m a dog now, man: I like the taste of everything.”
Okay.
“I miss smoking.”
Hey, Garcia. Whatcha wearing?
“Blanket.”
Yeah. Guy on the left is killing it.
“He is, yeah.”
Rest of you look like mutants.
“Cannot argue with that.”
Mickey?
“Sure?”
You got on a watch cap and bell-bottoms, but also a cape.
“Your point?”
Can’t be in the Navy and a dracula at the same time.
“Don’t tell me how to live my life.”
…
Why aren’t you wearing a Dead shirt?
“They haven’t been invented yet.”
Makes sense.
“Now, now, now: Jerry. Mr. Garcia. May I call you Jerry?”
“Ah, Jerry’s cool, Tom.”
“I would actually appreciate Mr. Snyder. HAW HAW HAW HAW. Now, now…tell us and tell the viewers what we’re watching here.”
“Well, this seems to be one of our drummer Billy’s home movies and if I’m right–”
“Holy cats and kittens, what is going on here?”
“–he’s about to, yeah: this is the part that got him declared persona non grata in, like, 50 countries.”
“Well, that…that is something. I’ve noticed your little buddy doesn’t understand how mugs work.”
“I’ll add that to the list.”
“HAW HAW HAW HAW.”
At this show, this day, this fixed moment in time, women (some stone-cold, others not) would not only slobber this man’s johnson, but would slobber Parish’s johnson for the opportunity to get to Garcia’s johnson. Fame: ain’t it a bitch?
OR
Big-Dicked Sheila was at this performance. After the show, she said to Garcia, “With my cock and your tits, we got the whole package, baby!” She was on the Dead’s shitlist for about a year after that remark, but Bobby still went to her in secret.
OR
Bring Solo and the Wookiee to me.
OR
For today’s show, the part of Garcia will be played by an obese Afghan Hound.
OR
Halfway through Deal, Garcia’s moobs became sentient, declared jihad on one another, and started fighting. It looked like angry Tribbles under a tablecloth and the microphones picked up the meaty SHWAPTHHHHHWUCK sound as the mountainous mammaries struck and them sweatily withdrew from one another. Intermission was longer than normal as interns had to be sent out for Ace bandages.
OR
Ten minutes after this photo was taken, Garcia ate the American flag behind him.
The theme park was doomed from the start.
The boffins at Alembic, geniuses at audio innovation that they might be, were particularly ill-suited to designing an amusement park, mostly because of their high tolerance for experimentation and system failure: they sent at least three fully-loaded roller coaster cars hurtling off the tracks in an uncontrollable death parabola in search of what they called “the gravitational sweet spot.”
One of the selling points of the park was the entertainment: the Dead would jam in the open-air amphitheater twice a day; admission was free to park guests. Phil showed up for the first show, got shit-faced on Bordeaux and astronaut ice cream, drove his Lotus home, called in with a family emergency. When Sue Swanson answered and asked what the emergency was, Phil relayed the sad news that his father had died. Sue then reminded Phil that his father had died in 1970 and he (Phil) had written a song (Box of Rain) about it (the dying.) Phil then made a CHHHSSXCH sound into the phone and pretended the connection was bad and hung up.
Also–and there’s no pleasant way to say this–Brent would do stuff to the characters walking around. This stuff was non-consensual, at best. Which is funny when it’s a keyboardist desperately humping an anthropomorphic duck in broad daylight, but not as funny once you realize that there’s a person–most likely a teen person–in the suit and you’re literally watching another human being get PTSD.
There was a solid five or six-year stretch when Mickey thought he was an orthodontist from Ann Arbor who had just started a new affair with the hygienist.
Also, the question they are all laughing in response to was, “Why is it that you keep putting Phil in charge of the live albums?”
And, the reason Mickey always wears sweatbands is that he’s got the forearms of a Chewbacca.
Plus, seriously: if Mickey’s arms look like that, imagine his potato salad.
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