“Dude, what if Jerry’s third eye–wait for it–HAD ITS OWN THIRD EYE?”
“You’re a fucking genius, bro. Gonna draw the bears evil as fuck?”
“Of course.”
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: jerry garcia (Page 86 of 139)
This picture was taken at a different show than the header photo of these bloggings; he’s playing Alligator instead of that obscure Sunburst model.
And it’s a snappy and snazzy pic, until you realize that fucking Garcia is wearing JEANS WITH HIS NUDIE SUIT. You lazy fuck, Garcia: this is why we can’t have nice things.
“Hi. This is Parish, and he’s about to hit you.”
If he stopped moving at a festival, this would happen. Every time.
“Tell us about politics, Jerry.”
“Hi, Jer!”
“Garcia, I have this screenplay that–”
“Man, I know you;re gonna think I;m crazy, but–”
And he just wants to go hide and get high but Garcia’s polite, you know? So he sits there with soggy balls listening to randos be his best friend at him.
If John Kahn asked for my phone number, I would straight-up give him a 555. Unless I wanted heroin, in which case I would give him every possible point of communication that I had.
Ned Lagin made a children’s album once and the nation remembers it every year with a moment of silence.
And the seas turned black as sack, black as night, black as pitch, black as the coffee on the morning your side of bed was unused.
And the sky shrieked, loud as a bomb, loud as a failure, loud as a Tennessee prostate exam, loud as dad’s voice in every young man’s story.
And the wind howled like a summer’s morning at the sex dentist.
A two-head lamb was born today. Two-headed lambs, you say, are naturally occurring phenomena: it’s creepy but it happens. Yes, I say, but this two-headed lamb was born to Mrs. Claudia Dalrymple of 11 Cherokee Street and she’s had three kids already and none of them were lambs at all, let alone two-headed, so why don’t you take your questions and kiss my balls with them?
Really?
There were tsunamis in Idaho, twisters in Vladivostok, blizzards in the Maldives. Madagascar was shut down immediately.
Do you hear his cries? Bleeep. Flizzmsctrch. JZHoooooooWAHWAH. EEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEeeeee. Bloop.
Ned Lagin is here.
Fuck: everybody, be quiet. Or make a lot noise: it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. The sky broke in three pieces last Tuesday and a Filipino guy with a club foot stole one piece and the other two went to the British Museum, which is holding onto them. (This is in line with the British Museum’s strict policy of Finders, Keepers (for a very loose definition of “find”).)
The Abandoned Gods have abandoned us: Azagoth, Ba’al, Cthulu, Domak the Absolute Worst, Ephialtes the Traitorous, Frank from Across the Hall with the Fucking Dog, Gozer, Hecubus, Isaac from the Love Boat, Joruus C’Boath, Ken Kragen*, Lilith, Mephistopheles, Na-az’rael, Oculus Rift someone farted in, Planchette the Intern, Q-Bert, Rapin’ Panda the Raping Panda, Simon Milligan, Tushee Monster, ‘Ucifer the Speech-Impaired, Vishanti, Wucifer the Lethally Cute, Xj!tfr’rr the Unpronounceable, Yog Soggoth, Zuul…all of them have left the building, dimension, or many-angled prison of tears.
Ned Lagin is here, children. Ned Lagin is among us. He had no power…until they invited him up to jam. And now, Ned Lagin is here.
* Country music’s superstar manager of superstars, Ken Kragen, is also an Eldritch Abomination. Little-known fact.
I’m glad that date is there. Otherwise, I would have no idea this was taken in the 70’s
More elegant instruments from a more civilized age.
Don’t believe that for a second. No one could keep their guitars in tune for fifteen seconds in a row, at least 17 fistfights broke out during the show between the band and the sound crew about the feedback, and you most likely wouldn’t be electrocuted if you touched the microphone. Most likely.
As for more civilized: whatever city this picture was taken in had had a race riot with the past 36 months. Entire American cities would just spasm into violent lunacy and beat the living shit out of themselves. For a good reason, mind you: people whose skin had evolved to suck in Vitamin D treated people whose skin had evolved to reject most Vitamin D poorly. They did this because humans act rationally and aren’t just pants-monkeys terrified of anything different because “what if he wants my stuff? Or daughters?”
Always remember: the past was horrible for pretty much everyone. Not the Dead: they got laid a lot.
© 2026 Thoughts On The Dead
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
Recent Comments