“You and me are Bass Drum Buddies.”
“Yuh-huh. That’s right, pal.”
“And we’re Mustache Muchachos.”
“We both got mustaches, yeah.”
“I love drumming with you.”
“It’s a treat, man.”
“See, here’s what I did–”
You used Time Sheath technology to go back to the 80’s and retcon yourself into a Hawaiian Shirt Guy.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Bobby, stop fucking with reality.
“It won’t stop fucking with me.”
“I’m full of ’em, man.”
“Boy, you get that dang pervert shirt off right now!”
“Dammit, Huey Lewis, I told you to am-scray.”
“Lewis? I ain’t no Lewis!”
“I’m Hewis Long!”
“Huh. Were you the fellow who wanted to buy everyone chicken and pot?”
“Absolutely not, you drug-soaked wastrel. I am a man of the people!”
“Well, that’s fine. I’m people.”
“I don’t know ’bout that, boy. Next time you come down t’ Louisiana, you gonna have a rough time.”
“Last time I went down to Louisiana, I had a rough time. We, uh, wrote a song about it.”
“I got no idea what you talkin’ about.”
“Went straight to the top of the charts in Turlock.”
Mickey–otherwise known as Grandpa Shitposter–threw this nonsense up on his Twitter today, and there are no words.
First off: ten. There are ten Commandments. They made a movie about them. It was called The Ten Commandments. The number of commandments is not a secret. All humans know this fact. There are three Stooges, five Golden Rings, and ten Commandments. Mickey, however, includes twelve. Perhaps this is due to inflation. Maybe the last two are bonus tracks. I don’t know, but it’s wrong.
Second: only nine of the Dead Commandments are actually commandments. IV and V are merely descriptions, while IX is a suggestion. A command can’t start with the word “if,” unless you’re programming a Commodore 64 using BASIC.
Third: these are not the Dead Commandments.
I. Thou shalt choogle.
II. Rehearsing is for heathens, miscreants, and Journey.
III. Thou must not openly speak of the fans with contempt, but you can rip into ’em once you’re amongst friends.
IV. The Hells Angels must be allowed backstage.
V. All Grateful Deads are equal in the eyes of THE LORD, but Garcia gets first crack at the catering table.
VI. All Grateful Deads are equal in the eyes of THE LORD, but Bobby gets first pick in the Hostility Suite.
VII. No one’s allowed to hire an oboe player anymore, not after what happened last time.
IX. Keep your hands off each others’ wives, you fuckwits.
X. Thou must only regularly play three Chuck Berry songs, even though Chuck Berry songs are all the same, dead-simple, and quite easy to learn.
XI. Anyone who wants to be on the payroll may be on the payroll.
XII. Nobody is allowed to call Mickey “Icky Fart” anymore; it’s starting to really upset him.
Nice shirt, Mickey.
Does that take some of the fun out of it for you?
“It does. Well observed. The thrill of the yoink is in the hunt. I was a bit let down.”
What did you do?
“I yoinked a bunch of merch. Cleared out half the table, then went outside and made people give me free shirts.”
You’re a predictable man.
“I like what I like.”
What’s on your monitor?
What about the other times?
“Truly tasteless jokes. Remember those books?”
Yeah. The paperbacks with all the jokes about dead babies and the disabled.
“Those. They come up randomly. Lotta fun. Hey, what’s worse than a pile of dead babies?”
Please don’t, Mickey.
“A pile of dead babies with one live one in the middle, chewing his way out.”
“Billy showed it to me. Lotta fun. How did Helen Keller burn her ear?”
Oh, not Helen Keller jokes.
“Answering the iron. Great little pieces of comedy there. Like I said–”
You drinking again?
“Not again. Still.”
The rarest (and scariest) Billy of them all: Shirtless Billy.
“Are we all playing red guitars, man? It’s gonna look like we planned it.”
“Ah, the dummies out there will hardly notice.”
“I’ve, uh, also got my shirt off.”
The scariest (and rarest) of all possible Mickeys: Mustache Mickey.
Picture courtesy of the great Jesse Jarnow, who wrote about this show (6/22/69) in his outstanding book Heads: A Biography of Psychedelic America, which you should buy and read. You can also listen to the afternoon’s offering via a two song SBD (which is crappy) or a full-ish show AUD (which is also crappy).
Ramrod’s Little Orphan Annie afro is always so easy to pick out in a group shot.
This is the Naumburg Bandshell in Central Park. Martin Luther King once gave a speech there, but did not play Dark Star. WINNER: Grateful Dead.
You know what I’m gonna ask, right?
“They’re Christmas lights.”
Thought so. Jesus, that looks terrible.
“You should’ve seen the first version.”
Was it spelled wrong?
Hell of an organization you guys had.
Mickey’s selling doobies, because of course he is, and I’m not writing about it until I get a sample. Or at least a tin. The tin’s nice.
Hey, Mickey. Whatcha doing?
“Trying to get free shrimp.”
You can yoink shrimp?
“You can yoink anything if you put your back into it. Or, you know, no one’s looking.”
Mickey, Steve Aoki is a respected deejay.
“Oh, yeah. I respect the shit out of the way he plays other peoples’ records. I don’t give a fuck about deejays. What I do give a fuck about is that the guy’s dad owns Benihana. I want one of those ‘eat-free-for-life’ cards.”
Like Carvel gave to Lindsay Lohan and then had to take back because her mother was abusing the system?
“That didn’t happen.”
“That family’s a mess.”
“I wouldn’t do that. I would be courteous. I’d tip well. But I’ve got a Grammy, I’m in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, I porked Joan Baez…there are no more mountains to conquer except eating my weight in free shrimp. And it’s gotta be flipped into my mouth by a Guatamalan dude pretending to be Japanese.”
You’re a man with a plan.
Hey, Mickey. What’s the fist for?
“You know why.”
Hey, Mickey. Looking flexible.
“I’m lithe, and my tendons are supple.”
Gross. Hey, Bobby.
Buddy, you’re the worst clown I’ve ever seen. You look stern.
“I was going for whimsical.”
You missed it and hit morose.
“I gotta cut down on the botox.”
Sure. I mean, look how happy Mickey is. That’s how you wear a clown nose.
“Yeah, sure, but Mickey’s drunk.”
“I am, but off a different liquor.”
That does make sense.