Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: john mayer (page 1 of 40)

Somewhat-Less-Than Hallowed Eve

Hey, Josh. Love your costume.

“I’m not wearing a costume.”

No? I thought you were Guy With Terrible Friends.

“I didn’t miss talking to you.”

Well, you’re back on tour with the Dead (Or What’s Left Of ‘Em) and so now we have to chat more regularly. Does Jimmy Fallon smell like scotch?

“No.”

Tequila?

“Yeah.”

Figured.

“Hey, man: alcoholism is not funny.”

Makes it perfect for Jimmy, then.

“Are you this relentlessly negative about everyone?”

I’m nice to your friends that don’t suck. Which in this group, ironically, is the gay guy.

“Stop it.”

I’m pretty sure all your Santa has in his bag is herpes.

“He’s not a Santa.”

He looks like if a yoga studio were homeless. Andy Cohen tripping? Those people love their drugs.

“What? That’s just homophobic, man.”

I didn’t mean gays love drugs. I meant “rich Hollywood Jews at Dead shows” love their drugs.

“Oh.”

Although, throwing “gay” in there doesn’t make it less true. He candyflipping?

“I don’t know what that is.”

Hobodosing?

“Hobodosing?”

It’s like Robodosing, but you have a homeless guy buy the cough syrup.

“He’s not doing that.”

Roofie-boofing?

“No.”

Andy Cohen boofing the roofs?

“You’re making these things up.”

Some toot for his snoot?

“Stop it with your rhyming lies!”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Oh, thank God. Wait. This isn’t Kim Jong-Un, is it? I know he’s been calling around lately.”

It’s not Kim Jong-Un.

“Promise.”

Yeah. It’s much more annoying.

“Fuck.”

“You’re on with John.”

“Josh, how do you like your kebab?”

“Mickey, for the ninth time: I do not want kebabs from a truck.”

“I’m here! It’s kebab time!”

“Pass. Pass on the street food, Mick.”

“Ask Johnny Carson and Paul Lynde.”

“Their names are Jimmy Fallon and Andy Cohen, and neither of them want kebabs.”

“What about bibimbap? The guy also does Korean.”

“Do not bring me ethnic food from a rando in a van, Mickey.”

“I’ll buy some extra churros.”

Cuz I Shot First And Kilt Him

This is gonna be a regular thing, huh?

“You have no idea how comfortable kilts are. Loose in the thigh.”

Sure.

“Calves are free and easy.”

Like a poorly-run cattle ranch.

“Not your best simile.”

No.

“And, uh, as I’ve mentioned–”

Your balls.

“–my balls are swinging. Like London in the 60’s. Although, obviously, the kilt is the garment of those oppressed by London. So, uh, I guess neither of us is doing real good with analogies tonight.”

Some people on the internet are saying that you wore the kilt in honor of Hunter.

“That young man’s caught up in some shady business.”

Not Hunter Biden, Bobby. Robert Hunter.

“That would make more sense.”

Yeah.

“Hunter loved his kilts. And, uh, his bagpipes. Composed Row Jimmy on ’em. Course, his version was called Blow Jimmy. Jer changed it around a little, because he thought people would get ideas.”

Good call. What did the rest of the band think of your fashion choice?

“Well, Billy called me precisely what you’d imagine he would. Mickey was concerned, though.”

Why?

“He thought someone yoinked my pants.”

Makes sense.

“Josh pretended not to like it, but I overheard him and some of his fashion friends talking about where they could order some.”

Also sounds right. What about Oteil and Jeff Chimenti?

“Who?”

Branford and New Brent.

“Ah. Well, here’s the thing: contractually, neither of them are allowed to have opinions.”

Man, Irving Azoff is a canny negotiator.

“Steal your residuals right off your head.”

My Brother Esau Kilt A Hunter

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Enjoying the breeze. It’s like it’s Spring, and my balls are falling in love.”

So you’re wearing the kilt in the traditional fashion?

“It’s completely Scottish down there: hairy, six drinks in, and fiercely opposed to Brexit.”

Good to hear.

“I’ll tell ya: this started as a Halloween thing, but I might become a kilt guy.”

Do not become a kilt guy, Bobby. Can’t you just wear a normal pant?

“If, uh, I wanted to be normal, then I wouldn’t have been in the Grateful Dead all my life.”

Yeah, okay.

Harry, The Horse

Hey, Josh. You cheating on Shawn Mendes with Harry Styles?

“Dude, fuck off. It’s my birthday.”

Is he your present? Are you unwrapping him and blowing out his candle?

“Stop.”

By “candle,” I meant “penis.” And by “blowing out,” I meant–

“I got it.”

Bro, I get it. He’s very pretty.

“Our relationship is not sexual.”

You should make it sexual. Honestly, it would be the best career move you’ve made since Katy Perry dumped you.

“She didn’t dump me. It was a mutual thing.”

Sure, buddy. I’m not judging you for porking Harry Styles.

“Not porking him.”

Giving him the beef.

“Nope.”

Roasting his rump.

“No more meat-related sex euphemisms, please.”

That chicken is tender.

“I said not to do–”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“–that anymore. Is that Nixon?”

Nope.

“Worse?”

Much.

“Asshole.”

“You’re on with John.”

“Hot Dog Dick!”

“Ah, fuck.”

“Where you at? I come get. Room for two on horse.”

“Well, I was not expecting this.”

“I your knight in shining armor. Come to get on fine Arab charger.”

“Stop quoting Emotional Rescue to me.”

“Underrated.”

“Emotional Rescue is not underrated at all.”

“Disco Stone is best Stone.”

“I’m not having this discussion with you.”

“I come get you. We ride. You my Little Potato.”

“Do not come and get me.”

“You wrap arms around Kim Jong-Un. All sort of bouncing and rubbing.”

“Hanging up now.”

“Father invent horse.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

“He’s gonna call back, isn’t he?”

Dude, I got around a half-dozen pictures of him on that poor animal.

“Shit.”

Max Occupancy

This is Josh Meyers’ stage set-up (plus Bobby and Sammy Hagar) for his latest tour, and I think it’s obvious that he has entered the Giant Band Phase of his career. All solo artists do, eventually. Both Elton and Elvis started with two other guys, and ended up with several score of musicians onstage. Billy Joel and Bruce began their performing lives in GBP; Bowie wandered in and out.

Here’s a quick checklist to find out whether you suffer from GBP:

  • Are there black-up singers?
  • If you told your road manager Go get the drummer, would he say Which one?
  • Have you recently paid for a trombonist’s hotel room and per diem?

If you’ve answered “Yes” to any of these questions, and experience anal leakage, you may be a victim of GBP and should consult your private physician. (Anyone vulnerable to GBP has a private physician.)

 

EDIT: Who sent me this picture? One of you did, but–as usual–I am bound by the strictures of Without Research. Claim your plaudits in the Comment Section.

Hard, Men

Why are you being so stand-offish? Get in there, fucker. That’s your Bobby.

“I’m being appropriate.”

Fuck that. That man saved your career.

“DID NOT!”

You get in his sweaty nook. Nuzzle in, douchewad.

“This is fine.”

How’s Sammy?

“Good. The usual.”

What does that mean?

“He keeps yelling WOO! and asking if we could play Three Lock Box.”

3LB is a slapper, Josh.

“Don’t call me that. We’re not doing Three Lock Box.”

What about There’s Only One Way to Rock?

“I don’t know that one.”

You could figure it out. We’re not talking about The Black Page.

“Bob and Sam are coming out for one number. Fire on the Mountain. That’s it”

Did Sammy bring any rum?

“Like, five cases worth. Sammy Hagar is like a Boy Scout, but for partying.”

He’s prepared.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Dude, we were getting along so well.”

I know. But this is how the bit works.

“Such a hack.

I know.

“You’re on with John.”

“Son, this is the President.”

“Oh. Hey, Mr. President. I’m just glad you’re not Miles Davis.”

“Nasty business, that man. Fabulous horn player, no one would deny that, but as a man he’s trouble. As a man. And he is, from my experience, the type of man that riles up others, uh, of his kind. His fellows. They see his attitude, and they mimic him. I’ve told Hoover to look into him several times, but Hoover says that his agents are scared of him. Heavily-armed and unreasonable, they report.”

“That is an accurate report on Miles Davis, sure.”

“He’s not like Sam. Sam Davis, Jr. There’s a negro that should be looked up to by any young man, whatever the color.”

“I guess.”

“Friendly, hard-working, can take a joke. It’s not always about race with him. And his pronunciation! My God, you would think you were talking to a Princetonian, for all that’s worth. On the phone, you cannot tell. You simply cannot tell.”

“Mr. President, please stop discussing race relations. Why are you in a hard hat?”

“Meeting with the Teamsters. Many people have, uh, forgotten just how mobbed-up I was.”

“I just assumed.”

“You want to keep your hands clean, go into the priesthood. Politics is for men, son.”

“But we’re a nation of laws.”

“Written by men. The laws were written by men. Remember that, and you’re halfway home before you begin.”

Hand Sam His Old Guitar

Seriously, why did Sammy not get a guitar? Fire on the Mountain has two chords in it. There’s not even a bridge with a bonus third chord. There’s a B, and there’s an A. That’s it. I Can’t Drive 55? SEVEN CHORDS! Sammy could’ve handled FOTM. Shit, you don’t even have to turn him up in the house. Just give him something to hold on to, for fuck’s sake.

I Can Tell The Queen Of California By The Way She Shines

Bobby takes the solo!

Sammy doesn’t know the words!

Josh plays a teeny-weeny guitar that assuredly costs two grand!

The band almost, but not quite, gets the hang of an >!

Thousands of dudes named Chad and chicks named Bethany ask each other “Are those John’s gay dads?”

 

I Fought The Chaw, And The Chaw Won

Everyone needs to put some damn shoes on.

“Oh, no. Shoes are the foot-killer; I shall not wear them. I will let trips to Foot Locker pass over me like a wave, and when they are gone only my tootsies shall remain.”

Nicely done.

“Besides, I was talking to Josh, and it turns out that sneakers are, like, two grand a pair nowadays.”

Not normal sneakers. Just his  handmade limited-edition bullshit. You can get a pair of Adidas for $65.

“Huh.”

One other thing.

“You want some Fret-Eeze?”

No. What’s with the chewing tobacco?

“I enjoy a good dip. See, what you do is–”

I know how it works.

“–you put a pinch between your cheek and gums.”

Yes.

“Mm, what flavor.”

Chewing tobacco is absolutely the most disgusting way of ingesting nicotine. And least cool.

“I don’t know about that. How about that thing that looks like you’re sucking on a robot’s dick?”

Vaping.

“That scene is not for me.”

Good call. But the dipping has to stop.

“I’m gonna keep doing whatever the hell I want.”

Good. We’re agreed.

And Co-Starring Katy Perry As Pepper Potts

Why are you Iron Man, Josh Meyers?

“Someone has to be. Plus, an Iron Man suit is literally the most expensive outfit in the world.”

True.

“I have pants that cost twenty grand, but these suckers are seven figures a pop.”

Do you get concierge service with that?

“It’s extra, but it’s available. I recommend it.”

Is it comfortable?

“It makes terrycloth feels like canvas. The only word is ‘sumptuous.’ Plus, I can take out a major city with it.”

Don’t do that. Are you gonna wear that on Dead & Co’s next tour?

“No. I wore it at a soundcheck, and Billy kept sticking fridge magnets to me. Really explicit ones, too.”

Sounds right.

CELL PHONE NOISE

Cell phone?

“Yeah. I can’t get the suit’s Bluetooth to shake hands with my phone.”

The perils of the modern world.

“You’re on with John.

“Ah, good boy. You’ve acquired the, uh, weapon.”

“The Iron Man suit is more than a weapon, Mr. President. Why are you pointing at Cambodia?”

“I want you to blow it up for me, son. Blow up Cambodia for Nixon.”

“No.”

“These are the hills within which the rebels, the Communist rebels, led by Ho Chi Minh are hiding. Right here about a hundred clicks east of Phnom Penh. Hills are crawling with rebels. We want you to take them out.”

“I’m not taking out any rebels, sir.”

“Not the rebels, son: the hills. You, uh, deny the enemy ground upon which to stand, and you eliminate his fighting ability. The entire landscape has to go: hills, valley, lakes, rivers. Take it all down to the bare grain. The Cambodians will cease to be a problem once there’s no Cambodia. That’s realpolitik, son. Ugly, yes, but it provides for the long-term peace. Cambodia must die so Laos can live.”

“How did Laos get into this?”

“How does Laos get into anything? Via the Great Game. We all play it. You, for example, didn’t read the owner’s agreement of that suit, which clearly states that the Sokovian Accords are in effect for purchasers. This, uh, grants me the authority to order you around. Now put your helmet on and obliterate Cambodia for America.”

“Goddammit.”

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