Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Um…hey, Garcia.
“Hey, man. What’s with the trepidation and all?”
This–and you know, brother: saying this as one dude to another–is the best you’ve ever looked.
“Well, thanks, man.”
Seriously: fucking ever.
“Okay.”
I mean, like: wow.
“That’s enough.”
…
You are objectively fuckable.
“I’m gonna go.”
…
No homo?
“Little late for that, pal.”
On and off for most of ’71, Garcia was sepia.
After the success of Pitch Perfect and its upcoming sequel, Pitch Perfect 2: Anna Kendrick Remains Clothed, the Dead attempted a few a capella numbers, but Phil insisted on being the human beat box and wouldn’t stop making that “wikki wikki” noise. Also, after Garcia was told that a capella songs rarely, if ever, contain 17-minute guitar solos, he lost interest.
Over the cries of protest from stylist-to-the-Dead Big-Dicked Sheila, Garcia demanded to look like a woman who had recently left the convent to work in a vegan bicycle shop.
John Fogerty has a bandana tied around his neck because he is a Golden Retriever.
“Where’s Phil? Wasn’t he coming with you?”
“Me? No, Bob. You were gonna pick him up because his damn Lotus broke down again.”
“That thing ever work? What happened to it this time?”
“He put it into fourth and the spare tire exploded.”
“Well, there’s your problem.”
“British craftsmanship at its finest.”
“What kind of hat you want, Mickey?”
“Ah, just wrap a bath towel around my head.”
“Done.”
Either that’s the keyboardist/singer from Fleetwood Mac, or a diner waitress from a Tom Waits song.
Has Garcia always played a maple Strat with a whammy bar at Veneta in ’72? I could have sworn he played Alligator. Did someone reset the Matrix again?
Hey, Garcia. Whatcha doing?
“Talking to Matthews. Feeling left out.”
Aww, what’s the matter, slugger?
“It’s all Trey this, and Chicago that, and Bruce this.”
Dude, the whole thing’s about you.
“Just seems like I’m not involved in the shows, y’know.”
You do remember that you died in 1995, right?
“Oh, sure, yeah.”
…
You stay away from the Time Sheath technology, mister.
“What about just one show? I sit in?”
Garcia, it’s been two decades. You can’t wander onstage. It would freak people out.
“Well, that’s fun, man! Bit of freak-out never hurt anyone.”
No, no. A confirmed sighting of a guy who died 20 years ago wouldn’t be a good freak-out. This would be bad. And almost definitely global. Yeah, I’m certain: your presence would destroy civilization as we know it. Dead people stay dead or people completely lose their shit.
“What about Jesus?”
I think you just proved my point for me, buddy, so I’ll say it simply: your appearance at Soldier Field would–provably and directly–lead to the deaths of billions.
“Yeaaaah. This might be a ‘better safe than sorry’ situation.”
…
“What if I went, but wore a disguise and just watched?”
We’ll discuss it.
Other bands can still sell out the big rooms.
The Stones can still do it, I suppose. Metallica. U2.
Tickets get snatched up quickly.
Maybe they’ll even add a second show.
Probably not a third.
But I’m gonna bet they can’t sell out three shows before the tickets even go on sale.
(Oh, and did I mention that people had to find envelopes and stamps and remember what the hell a money order was?)
The Boys play stadiums because there’s nothing larger.
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