Tag: jerry garcia (Page 77 of 139)

Breaking with tradition and in honor of our Muslim readers, who will–in accordance with the will of Allah–spend the next month in Ramada Inns all over the world, we shall go right to left.

• Brent has been drinking.
• Bobby’s just straight-up lost his fucking mind. Is he on The Bachelor?
• That monogram on the satin jacket with the elastic cuffs and waist is the best part about the satin jacket, but the stripes on the elastic cuffs and waist finishes a strong second.
• Garcia and Billy are there, but I want to talk about Bobby some more. What’s the message? Is the Dead as a whole offering their fans a rose? Does the rose symbolize something? If so, is that something the Nipples of Eternity. (Long story short: they built the Wall of Sound a companion like in Bride of Frankenstein and named it the Nipples of Eternity and the initial meeting went poorly. Much longer story short: Chernobyl was the cover story.)
• “Hi, I’m rock and roll’s Bob Weir and I present to you a rose. Pulsing with scent and luster but covered with thorns, the rose is captivating to look at, but dangerous to touch, much like the women most of us seem to prefer.”
• Mickey is a little teapot.

From left to right, as is the custom:

• Billy is modelling the latest from the newest name in shirts to get drunk in the afternoon in, St. Pete’s. Apprenticing under legendary clothiers to the grizzled Sammy Miami and Tampa Ray, St. Pete promises the highest quality in shirts that tell the world  “I don’t have fucks to give, but I almost surely have a knife.” Going to the races? Moving at midnight? Sitting in a folding chair in a public place randomly? St. Pete’s has what you need.
• Garcia’s pooping. Everyone who’s spent more than ten minutes with a baby knows this face: Garcia is making a boom-boom.
• “Hiiiii, Bobby.”
• Mickey’s arms look like he’s in a horror movie and this is the part where he reveals he’s actually a Pod Monster From Uranus by swiveling them around and then a giant spider eats its way out of his skull. Mickey is not, however, wearing a Grateful Dead shirt. Which is suspicious.
• “Christ, the bullshit I gotta deal with. Fuckin’ keyboardist telling me ‘I sing the high harmonies now, so it’s my turn to have you.’ Whatever the fuck that means. Is he still staring? Don’t look, Bob. Don’t–fuck, he is definitely still staring. Well, Bob: you wanted to half-ass the solo albums, so now you’re stuck with these mutants. Oh, good, guess who shit himself?”
• Once again, Phil tried to teach the band the pleasures of a good old-fashioned barbershop quartet session, and once again no one wanted to play except Brent, whose voice was just about the opposite of barbershop quartet, plus Billy insisted on “helping,” and damn near every barbershop quartet song is hideously racist.