Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: justin kreutzmann (page 1 of 2)

Kreutzmenn

“Justy, I know you’re my son, but–”

“We’re not doing foot stuff, Pop.”

“–let’s do foot stuff. Why not?”

“It’s wrong.”

“Naaaaah. You ever hear about Abraham and Isaac from the Hotel Book?”

“The Bible. That book is called the Bible.”

“They did tons of toe-play. Nobody thought less of them.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve stayed in a lot of hotels, Justy.”

“I’m here to talk about drums, Pop.”

“Shit, you wanna talk drums, you should call up your Uncle Mickey. He won’t shut the fuck up about ’em. I keep telling him to get a hobby, but he just pretends his hearing aids aren’t working. Deaf as a coffee table that had the mumps as a kid.”

“I already talked to Uncle Mickey.”

“He tell you about the time he fucked half the UCLA ladies’ volleyball team? He had to climb most of those chicks.”

“Pop.”

“Eventually, he got tired and just started rubbing against their knees.”

“Pop.”

“Benjy, you went bald quick.”

“Not Benjy, Pop.”

“Am I getting paid for this?”

Why Even Bother Having A Dress Code?

Hey, Billy.

“Ass! Good timing! I was just about to take it out.”

Really?

“Well, honestly: I’m always just about to take it out. Little Billy’s on call 24/7. Like a doctor, but not Jewish now.”

Inappropriate.

“You’re right. Doctors are mostly Chinese now. You’ll never guess what my urologist’s name is.”

Dr. Wang?

“You guessed! Oh, man, I laugh my ass off every time.”

Sure. This is for Justin’s documentary, Let There Be Drums, right?

“Maybe. Could be. I got no idea. Justy showed up and told me I couldn’t see my grandkids unless I talked about Buddy Rich for a while.”

I believe you.

I’m Ready For My Close-Up Now, Mr. Kreutzmann

“Hey! Thoughts on my Ass!”

Hey, Billy.

“Camera’s set up! Get over here and take off my clothes.”

Wha?

“We’re shooting a porn, aren’t we? What’s the title, Grateful Head?”

We are in no way shooting a–

Dark Starfish?”

–porno movie.

Mississippi Hand-Job Yankmyshmoo?

I don’t even know what that means. No porn. That’s your son behind the camera.

“Which one? Linoleum?”

You don’t have a son named Linoleum.

“Fartin’ Ted?”

Nor do you have a–

“Philsucks?”

–son named…are we just gonna do the same joke over and over?

“I’m in that kinda mood, to be honest.”

Stuck in a rut?

“Oh, yeah. I stick it in, and then I rut.”

I walked into that one. This interview is for Justin’s documentary about drummers. Aren’t you proud of him?

“Proud enough. Kid’s not a complete letdown, but he’s not living up to his potential. I didn’t want him to be a director.”

What did you want him to do?

“Bullfighter.”

Weird.

“We lived on a farm when he was a boy. I would sneak into his room at night and chuck goats at him.”

For God’s sake, why?

“Well, you don’t start off with a bull in bullfighting. Gotta work up to it. First, you fight reptiles and maybe an owl. Not one of those big fuckers, though. Little owl.”

This doesn’t sound right.

“Boy was gonna be a toreador. Y’know how much money I spent on tights and those fruity slippers?”

Since when were you a fan of bullfighting?

“Ah, I was really into Hemingway at the time.”

I didn’t know you enjoyed Ernest Hemingway.

“Not Ernest. Mariel. I was cranking two or three out a day to that chick, man. Tits and a pedigree? The Bill was tolling damn hard.”

Always good catching up.

I Don’t Wanna Work…

“Tell me about this drum, Uncle Mickey.”

“It could be a coffee table.”

“But it’s not.”

“No. It’s a drum. Everything in here is a drum, Justy.”

“Justin.”

“Now, just help me with this one last time–”

“I’m Billy’s son.”

“–who exactly are…ahhhh. Okay. That would explain why you look nothing like Phil.”

“Sure. Back to the drum, Uncle Mick.”

“I never have to get back to drums. Because I never leave them. Would you like to see my pocket bongos?”

“It depends.”

“They’re my balls.”

“Then, no, I do not want to see them.”

Micks Are From Mars, Justins Are From Marin

Hey, Justin Kreutzmann. Your dad looks like shit.

“This is Mick Mars.”

Oh. Is he alive or dead?

“He exists. Let’s leave it at that.”

How’s the smell?

“Eldritch.”

Huh. I love when people get their own names tattooed on themselves.

“It’s not his name. The man loves candy.”

Did not know that.

Bette Davis Eyes, Bill Walton Thighs

“My God, Billy, the geologic stratifications we’re looking at are some of the most spectacular in the world. Scientists from all over come to Colorado to examine these cliffs, and that adds to both humanity’s knowledge and the local economy. It’s a win-win.”

“Look, kids. Rocks.”

“Don’t undersell the wonder here, my rhythmic friend. Within this landscape is the history of our Spaceship Earth. Imagine existing at that scale, encompassing both the ferocious spin which produces the day and also the patience to grow a mountain. That’s too much for our fragile minds; it would be like a GM also playing point guard. Only Earth herself can handle such a range of experience.”

“Fix your shorts, man. I can see your balls.”

“Better?”

“Yeah. Hey, Justy: go get Dad four cans of Coors. Other Kid, go with Justy and also bring me four beers.”

The Faster We Go, The Ovaller We Office

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, the President wasn’t a complete buffoon with clown piss for blood. No, he was smart and charming and handsome and had the decency to at least pretend he was sad about all the corpses his policies created.

It was a wild run.

Kreutzmann, Kreutzboyy, Kreutzbabyy

“Gimme!”

“Dad, I’m gonna hold her.”

“Gimme the baby!”

“Absolutely not, Dad. First of all, you’ve been drinking.”

“Hey, I’ve always been drinking.”

“And second: you teach her weird things.”

“I do not?”

“No? Then where did she learn the phrase ‘moneygrubbing Jews’ from?’

“Probably her mother. What’s her name again? Alpharetta?”

“That’s a town in Georgia.”

“Thor Two: The Dark World?”

“You think my wife’s name is Thor Two: The Dark World?”

“I’m just free associating at this point, Justy. Oh, shit! Cameras! Should I be hard?”

“Dad! This is an interview.”

“Yeah, I know how it works. You ask me a few questions, then the pizza shows up. Are you gonna be all right tag-teaming skank with your pop? Cuz I’m fine with it as long as our dicks don’t touch.”

“I literally have a baby on my lap.”

“She should go in the other room. You know, PC culture and all.”

“Can we please just do the interview?”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Yeah, but lemme take this first. It might be skank.”

“Cmon, Dad.”

“This is Billy, is this a filly?”

“Kinda. You’re definitely getting some right now.”

“This voice sounds familiar.”

“It’s me, you.”

“Hey! How you doing, you handsome motherfucker!?”

“Gay as shit.”

“Nah, I like innies. Oh, wait.”

“Remember? When we go forwards through time, we turn gay.”

“Right.”

“Dad, what the hell is going on?”

“Justy, you remember how I have access to a Time Sheath?”

“A what?”

“And, well, goofiest thing: when I go forwards? I go all nancy. Like the Hulk, but instead of turning into a giant green guy, I fuck dudes.”

“What?”

“Hey! 80’s me! Let’s do this.”

“Nice! Wait, is it possible that touching will unravel the universe?”

“Big possibility. It might even be a probability.”

“Fuck it, I’m horned up.”

“I want me inside me.”

SHVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

pop

“Hello?”

Justin?

“Something happened.”

Are you in an eternal void, a place without time or form?

“Yes.”

Okay, they unraveled the universe. I will put this back together, I promise.

“I didn’t ask to be a part of this.”

Me, either. But here we are and I can’t reconstruct reality if you’re going to be distracting.

“This is my fault now?”

Yes.

“How?”

Well, it’s not like I’m gonna accept the blame.

“Fix this.”

Hold your horses, Justy.

“Don’t call me that.”

Kreutzmann And Childd

“What the fuck is all this bullshit now?”

Billy?

“Nah. Down here.”

Baby Justin?

“Is that my name?”

Yeah.

“Question.”

Shoot.

“Explain the concept of names.”

No.

“This my dad?”

Yes.

“He a cowboy?”

No. A drummer.

“Is that better?”

Less saddle rash.

“Okay. Speaking of which–”

“–I’m back.”

You poop?

“I did.”

Nice.

“I gotta be honest: I thoroughly enjoy pooping. Then the lady comes in and shines me up. It’s all very civilized.”

Well, don’t get used to it.

“Why not?”

You only get, like, two years of pants-pooping. After that, you’re on your own.

“That’s fucked up.”

I hear you.

“Another question.”

Go to it.

“There’s another guy. Not this guy, but also hairy. He keeps whacking on me with mallets.”

That’s your Uncle Mickey. Just go with it. Wait. Soft mallets?

“Yeah.”

Okay. Yeah, just go with it.

“Gotcha. Let you in on a secret?”

Sure.

“I’m about to puke all over this motherfucker.”

Try and hit his mustache.

“Will do.”

Billy And The Kid

“Watch my left hand, boy. This is how you control the skank. The right hand? That’s the finesse hand.”

Billy, stop teaching children about skank.

“I taught him how to punch dick. What else is left for a father?”

Anything else. Literally anything else.

“Nah, fuck that. I’m like Earl Woods. You know that black guy?”

I do. I wish you hadn’t referred to him that way, but I do know him.

“Shit, I got a bunch of other names for him.”

No, no, no. Let’s stand pat on “black guy.”

“Yeah, he’s an idol of mine. Took his kid out to the golf course when he was a baby, taught him the game. And now look how happy Tiger is.”

Tiger Woods seems like one of the most miserable human beings on the planet.

“But rich! And skank all over the place! Tiger’s got a great short game with the skank. Amazing putts.”

I see what you did there.

“Gotta start the kids early. Only way to get a head start. You know Mickey’s got a little boy, too, right?”

Yeah. Taro.

“Good kid, And, you know, I love Mickey like a brother. But I’ll be goatfucked if his kid is gonna out-skank mine. It’s like our song says: ‘One small boy of pride.'”

Point, Billy. One small point of pride.

“Ah, whatever. I don’t listen to the words. Y’know what I do listen to?”

Your dick?

“My heart! And my dick. Okay, you were right: I mostly listen to my dick. Sometimes, I listen to my nose.”

What does your nose say?

“‘Put cocaine in me.'”

Should have guessed.

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