Recording Ace in Bobby’s A-Frame.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: jerry garcia (Page 84 of 139)
Bobby had the banjo in his hands and was headed towards the stage. “How hard could it be? It’s just a redneck guitar,” he was heard murmuring when Garcia accelerated like Usain Bolt to snatch the thing out of his hands and get onstage before Bobby knew what had happened.
People say it was the fastest Garcia had moved since that dealer dropped dead of a heart attack and they had to hide his stash and Garcia decided it would be his in his briefcase.
Parish was a man of the working class and, therefore, insisted on a uniform of vest and no sleeves at all times.
The look on Garcia’s face is just aces.
“Hey, Señor Sunshine, wanna tone it down? You’re searing my rods and cones over here, Chachi.”
Why does Garcia sound like late-80’s Dennis Miller?
Why do YOU sound like–
I’m not going to play if you’re gonna be crazy.
–late 80’s Dennis Miller?
…
Boo, you whore.
This is the only known picture of a wet Garcia. He smelled like Cocker Spaniel when he got like that.
“AHH, IT’S GOT MY FINGER, IT’S GOTnah, I’m just fucking with ya, Mr. Turtle. I lost that shit years ago. You have a fine day. Garcia out.”
We re-open the Museum of Terrible Dead Art (MoMTDA–pronounced “Mom, ta-daa!”) to take a walk through one of my favorite permanent exhibits, Oh, That’s Actually Good,.
(There was some discussion as to whether this painting might not more properly belong in The Set Break of Doctor Moreau, the collection of art depicting the Dead crossed with animals, but as: A, Garcia is not actually a giant chameleon here; and B) that exhibit draws nothing but perverts jacking their johnsons to the otherkin bullshit and it’s a creepy bad place.)
Presented without comment.
You just couldn’t think up a joke.
…
Shut up, you.
Guitar strings: 16
Guitar knobs: 2,112
Fingers: 59.5
Boobies: 2
Actual amount of boobies: 4
Phil’s BAC: 1.3
Creepy background children you didn’t notice at first: 1
Hey Garcia. Whatcha doing?
“Smoking on a playground.”
Yeah.
…
Buddy, couldja not?
“Hey, man: it’s 1975. Single, bearded men are allowed to hang out in children’s playgrounds. Also, we are in a ‘smoke ’em if you got ’em’ phase of the culture right now. So, you know…back off, man.”
…
Fuck your temporal relativism, Garcia: STOP SMOKING ON THE PLAYGROUND.
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