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

Tag: leilani munter (Page 1 of 2)

I Bet They Talked Cars

Hey, Mr. Vice-President. Whatcha doing?

“Retail politics, Salami-face. Putting in my two cents and not taking any wooden nickels. Later on, I’m gonna go down to the Tam-O-Shanter and get blitzed.”

I thought you didn’t drink.

“I don’t. They got a jar full of pickled eggs’ll set you reeling. Health Department keeps raiding the place, but I’ve been getting loose off those eggs for three decades now. Health Department can’t tell Joey B. where to eat.”

Uh-huh. Polls look good.

“Always. Brave men and women. First the Nazis, then the Commies. Tough row to hoe.”

Not the Poles. The polls. Where they call randos and ask ’em who they’re voting for.

“Oh, yeah. Those are coming around. Looking finer than Carolina. Big happy yay.”

Uh-huh.

SEMI-BELOVED POLITICIAN PULLING A CELL PHONE FROM HIS POCKET NOISE

“You ever see one of these? It’s a phone! But it goes in your pocket! Here, make a call. It’s not a trick.”

Oh.

“There’s also something called ‘texting.’ Or ‘sexting.’ One of those. I don’t understand all of it, but my grandkids tell me it’s great.”

Dammit. Hey, Lillian Monster.

“I DEMAND ALL ABSENTEE BALLOTS BE PRINTED ON SUSTAINABLY-HARVESTED LEAVES!”

I have a bad feeling about this.

The Elusion Of Peace

“One, two, three, four–”

DON’T YOU DO IT, MOTHERFUCKER!

“–I declare a Rando War.”

Goddammit. Rando War is like the herpes of this site. So it makes sense you’re responsible.

“I don’t have herpes.”

Lie to randos, Josh, not me. You have at least one of every herpe. You collect watches, clothes, and herpes. You’re like that seed bank in Norway, but for herpes.

“I can’t hear you. I’m winning Rando War.”

“Rando War back on? We’re in.”

“Look at these randos! We got four. Beat that, Meyers!”

“Yeah, beat–”

“SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO, NEW BRENT!”

“Not in front of the randos, Mick.”

“You wanna keep flapping your gums, boy? You’re getting clogged!”

PERCUSSIONIST CHASING KEYBOARDIST WITH A PAIR OF ATTACK CLOGS NOISE

“Are, uh, we doing a Rando War?”

Bobby, that’s your family.

“Ah.”

Doesn’t count.

“Well, you know, they’re randos to somebody. Like Doctor J.”

What about Doctor J?

“He’d consider both women to be randos. He’d, uh, probably be nice to ’em ’cause they’re pretty, but they’d still be of the genusĀ rand. So, uh, pretend I’m Doctor J.”

Absolutely not.

“Remember that ball we used to use in the ABA? The red, white, and blue one? Stylish ball.”

Stop it. You are not Doctor J.

“Oh, yeah. I can slam that rock. Put that biscuit in the gravy.”

“Does Bobby think he’s Doctor J again?”

Who’s that?

Oh, hey: it’s Bobby’s Parish, Matt Busch.

“That’s not my job title.”

It’s not wrong, though.

“No. Anyway, does Bobby think he’s Doctor J again?”

Yes.

“Dammit. Ah, well, it’s better than when he thought he was Marvin ‘Bad News’ Barnes.”

I didn’t know Bobby was so into the ABA.

“He’s obsessed with failed sports leagues. The ABA, the USFL, that soccer league that had Pele for a while in the 80’s.”

Wow. Never would’ve guessed. Oh, yeah: what are you doing here?

“Rando War.”

That’s George R.R. Martin. He writes the books with the snow and the zombies and the castles and all that shit.

“Sure, but he’s a rando to someone.”

NO. Not entertaining this stupid argument anymore.

“I win Rando War.”

Yes, you do.

“I’m a dog now.”

Yes, you are.

Man Of Kreutz

“Welcome back to the Radio Randy Show, listeners. We’ve got the one and only Bill Kreutzmann here with us. Hey, Bill.”

“Howdy, Randy. Just wanna say hi to everyone tuning in to the Dead Channel on SiriusXM.”

“Oh, we’re actually on JamOn.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No.”

“Why don’t I just talk into my hat? Hell, I could talk into your ugly hat.”

“This isn’t about my hat, Billy.”

“You get a free bowl of soup with that?”

“Billy, let’s talk about Dead & Company.”

“First, I have many detailed questions about your ethnicity.”

“Such as?”

“You got a Chinafamily under that hat?”

“Inappropriate.”

“Fill in the blank: Make America _____ Again. Your options are ‘Great’ or ‘Mexico.'”

“Verging on insulting.”

“Answer this for me: were you a fan of ‘Ye last week or this week?”

“Can we move on?”

“Sure. Can you bring your dick a little bit closer?”

“How about a phone call?”

“Sure. Order me a pizza and an eight-ball.”

“Uh-huh. Caller, you’re on with Radio Randy and Bill Kreutzmann.

“THE KENTUCKY DERBY IS DEPRAVED AND DECADENT!”

“Hey, I know who that is! It’s that chick who looks like Bobby’s wife who’s always yelling about bullshit.”

“THIS IS LILIAN MONSTER AND I DEMAND ALL THE HORSES ARE RELEASED FROM SEA WORLD!”

“I don’t think there are any horses in Sea World, Lilian.”

“SEA HORSES!”

“Hey, honey? It’s Billy. Who’s that with you?”

“I DEMAND TO BE TOLD WHY YOU CAN SEE US!”

“Izzat Wonder Woman? Tell her I wanna feel her superboobies.”

“Um, hi. I am actually not Wonder–”

“You can keep that lasso of truth coiled up, sweetheart. Here’s the truth: I am engorged.”

“Who exactly am I talking to?”

“Jesus, what’s with that voice? You got a schwanz under that dress? Not a dealbreaker, but I’m gonna need some Schnapps.”

“Why am I being spoken to like this?”

“You don’t like the verbal stuff? Cool with me. Sit on my face and I’ll shut the fuck up.”

“Lilian, hang up the phone.”

“I STILL HAVE THINGS TO PROTEST!”

I’m Getting Too Racist For This Shit

“Hi, Will.”

“Lilian Monster! Nice to see you.”

“JEWS START THE WARS!”

“How are you?”

“Good, good. Saw you were doing Daytona.”

“THE IRISH ARE SECRET BLACKS!”

“Yeah! Had a little wreck.”

“Gotta shake and bake, Lil.”

“EVERYONE’S GETTING RAPED BY JIGABOOS!”

“I need me a John C. Reilly.”

Everyone needs a John C. Reilly.”

“OBAMA DID 9/11!”

“Do you hear something?”

“I do not, no.”

“POLACKS COME FROM MARS!”

“Good seeing you.”

“Same, same.”

An Increasingly Convoluted Happenstance

Aren’t you and Elvis supposed to be saving the world from Communism or something?

“That’s the plan, yeah. Waiting on him. Decided to come back to Daytona for a minute.”

Why?

“Enjoyed it.”

Yeah?

“Yup, yup.”

Bobby, please don’t use the Time Sheath to give Lillian Monster a do-over. We’re all unhappy she crashed, but this wanton use of time-altering devices is what got us here in the first place.

“Superman did it.”

And people are still mad at that part of the movie. It was very dumb.

“Admittedly, yeah, but there’s still precedent.”

Please don’t.

“She’s been moping around the house, man. Hasn’t told me she’s a vegan in a week.”

Oh, that’s not good.

“So, you know:  and then Elvis gets here, quick chrono-reset, and then, you know…whatever the hell is next.”

I advise against this.

“I’ll take your advice under advisement.”

“WE GOT OURSELVES ANOTHER DANG SITUATION!”

Oh, what now?

“Hey, Elvis.”

“YER DINGDONG BASS PLAYER DONE STOLE BACK THE TIME SCARF AN’–”

“HAIRY GARCIA!? WHAT HAPPENED T’ HAIRLESS GARCIA?”

“Okay, see: I am both of those people, but I’m actually not that person and also that’s the wrong name.”

“AH UNNERSTOOD NONE O’ THAT.”

“Yeah, but it’s all logical. Go check.”

“AIN’T NO REVERSE TO TH’ KING! AH GO FORWARD, MAN, OR SOMETIMES SIDE T’ SIDE, AN’ ALSO AH REST SOMETIMES.”

“Sweet ride.”

“YOU HAVE A JEWELER’S EYE, BOY. THIS HERE’S A PIECE O’ DETROIT STEEL MADE RIGHT IN MEMPHIS. AH CALL IT TH’ CHARIOT, HOW YOU LIKE THEM SWEET TITTIES?”

“Bike’s great, titties are great. All in, Elvis.”

“GOOD T’ HEAR.”

“Who’s your buddy?”

“THIS A HOBO AH PICKED UP ON MAH TRAVELS. IN CASE OF DINOSAUR ATTACK, AH PLANNED TO THROW THE VAGRANT TO TH’ BEAST.”

“Well, it’s good that you didn’t have to. I guess that means no more dinosaurs?”

“NO, THIS HERE’S TH’ NINTH HOBO AH’VE PICKED UP. REST ALL GOT ET UP.”

“Ah.”

Guys. I need both of you to concentrate. Elvis, what did you say about the Time Sheath–

“SCARF!”

“He calls it a scarf.”

–getting stolen by Phil?

“WHO?”

The bass player.

“The bass player.”

“YESSIR, THAT DRUNKEN FOOL DONE SNUCK INT’ MAH PRIVATE HOME AN’ STOLE AWAY WITH THE TIME SCARF. AN’ ALSO TH’ TIME CAPE. AN’ HE RUMMAGED THROUGH MAH MEDICINE CABINET SOMETHIN’ FIERCE. PLUS, HE MIGHTA STOLEN CHARLIE HODGE.”

Might have?

“CHARLIE HODGE COULDA ALSO GOTTEN ET BY TH’ STEGOSAURUS IN TH’ RACQUETBALL COURT.”

That thing’s still in there?

“WELL, WHY DON’ YOU TELL ME HOW T’ GET A 80-TON IGUANA OUTTA A RACQUETBALL COURT? WE DONE CALLED EV’RY EXTERMINATOR IN TOWN.”

They all refused?

“THEY ALL GOT ET!”

We need to stay on topic. You have a habit of digressing.

“MAH MIND WANDERS LIKE A PROPHET.”

Phil—the bass player–has all the time machines?

“AN’ AH BELIEVE HE STOLE A HAM FROM ME.”

The ham is not important.

“AH HAD MAH MOUTH ALL FIXED FOR IT.”

Forget about the ham.

“GONNA HAVE MISS MARY COVER IT UP WITH MAGIC SHELL. THAT CHOCOLATE STUFF GETS ALL HARD, MAN? THASS A DANG MIRACLE. COMES OUT SOFT, GETS HARD. LIKE IF A BONER WAS DELICIOUS.

“I agree. You can’t beat Magic Shell.”

Bobby, I forgot you were here.

“Elvis draws a lot of attention.”

“AH AM A SPECTACLE.”

So, neither of you has any sort of time machine?

“Nope.”

“AH DO NOT. LEMME ASK TH’ HOBO.”

“HE DOES NOT.”

Great. You two are useless. I’ll handle this.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“This is Phil Lesh of the Grateful Dead.”

Give back the Time Sheath; give back the Time Cape; you can keep the ham.

“You got the wrong guy.”

You just said you were Phil Lesh.

“I’m Phil from ’95.”

Dammit. I misdialed. Sorry.

“You looking for ’78 me? He owes me $20.”

’85 version.

“What did that drunken jackass do now?”

Stole a couple time machines.

“And a ham?”

And a ham.

“Not my problem.”

DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE

Burn Down The Indy, Gas The Daytona

You cause a commotion everywhere you go.

“I’m like Oprah.”

Not really.

“I feel like Oprah.”

You shouldn’t.

“Question.”

Shoot.

“Car’s vegan powered?”

Yes.

“How do they get the vegans in the fuel tank?”

I don’t think that’s what that means.

“And, you know, once the vegans are in the tank, then how do they tell people that they’re vegans?”

You’re completely misunderstanding this. The gas is made out of plant material.

“Are we talking about tofu farts?”

No.

“Cuz I love my sister-in-law, but after a couple helpings of quinoaloaf, she could clear out the room.”

Car doesn’t run on any kind of farts, Bobby.

“Well, then: what the hell does it run on?”

You can make gas out of corn or wheat or rice or bacteria or whatever. It’s just nowhere near as efficient as the gas made from dinosaurs.

“Huh. Why don’t you just use an electric car?”

You should. Internal combustion engines are 150 year old technology. But it’s a race. There’s rules.

“Sure, yeah, rules. Save your blue shell for when you really need it.”

You’re thinking about Mario Kart, Bobby.

“I may or may not have little to no idea what’s going on.”

Me, either.

Can you get up?

“If I wanted to.”

Okay.

The Race Is On

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“I dunno if you’ve ever met my sister-in-law–”

Lillian Monster.

“–Lillian Monster, but she’s a race car driver.”

I’ve heard.

“And, uh, she’s driving in Daytona. So, you know, I came down with the family. Met some nice people. I kept thinking I saw Billy all day.”

Why?

“Red baseball caps.”

Different kind of hat.

“I’ll say. This is, uh, not a Dead crowd. I don’t know if it’s the opposite, but it’s close. Lots of folks real sad about Sweden.”

Sure. You a racing fan at all?

“I’ve seen Cannonball Run a dozen times.”

Good enough.

“Just giving Lillian and her car a little bit of luck.”

The ol’ slap-a-Stealie-on-it routine?

“Well, think of it this way: if she doesn’t win, then she can still sell her car to Jim Irsay.”

Good thinking. Isn’t she worried that she’ll get pulled over with that sticker?

“I got a Jesus fish in my back pocket. Gonna stick it right next to the Stealie.”

Smart.

“I got my moments.”

Watch What Happens Live/Dead 3

bobby andy cohen bravo

“I left my body in Egypt, Alan.”

“Andy.”

“We were playing poorly and I was looking at the moon. And, you know: it was a very foreign moon. Meant something. And I kinda went towards it, up, maybe twelve feet. Right about eye level with Walton.”

“Bill Walton, who is very famous.”

“Sure, great guy. And I’m, you know, levitating and I see the future and the past. Also sideways a little bit. Anyway: that was a big one. Not that rare, though, the out-of-body experiences.”

“What do you mean, Bob?”

“I lapse in and out of total consciousness four or five times a day.”

“Wow.”

“I’ve watched myself shower quite a bit.”

“Bobby, let’s take a call.”

“This is a call-in show? Oh, okay. Great. Let’s give out some sex advice.”

“It’s not Loveline, Bob.”

“Here’s Bob Weir’s number one sex tip: have a roadie guard the door.”

“Okay. We have our first caller. From Mount Tamalpais, California. Lillian, are you there?”

“WE DEMAND VEGAN TALK SHOWS!”

“Hey, sis. Artie–”

“Nope.”

“–this is my sister-in-law, Lillian Monster.”

“SOLAR POWERED CAMERAS NOW!”

“Is she holding a bullhorn up to her phone?”

“Almost certainly.”

I Don’t Know Where You’ve Been, Bob Weir, But It Seems You’ve Won First Prize

IMG_4585

“Bob Weir, on behalf of the Les Paul Foundation, we would like to present to with the first annual Spirit Award. It couldn’t have gone to a better person.”

“Is that bacon? Because–”

“MEAT IS MURDER!”

“–I really can’t do bacon in public.”

“Do you know that woman, Bob?”

“Well, can you ever really know anyone?”

“THERE’S NOTHING SUPER ABOUT A SUPER-DELEGATE!”

“You’re killing me, Lillian.”

Preaching To The Choiroo

leilani crowd bonnaroo

“MENTION SEAWORLD!”

“Lillian Monster, I’m gonna talk about the Orlando thing and all the assholes and all that.”

“WHAT ABOUT VEGAN RECIPES?”

“I wanna stay on topic, I think. Gonna tell people to vote.”

“BERNIE!”

“Just, you know, just ‘to vote’ is gonna be the message, sis. Any chance you could put the bullhorn down?”

“MICKEY ASKED ME TO USE IT!”

“She’s the only person I can hear, Bob.”

“When did I become the grown-up?”

« Older posts