Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
“How many cables do we need, Precarious?”
“All of them.”
“Gongs?”
“All of them.”
“Amplifiers?”
“Put everything we own on the stage.”
“Gotcha.”
OR
They must be playing one of their bibbledy-boppidy songs that Pigpen can’t understand, because look how sad he looks with that stupid tambourine.
Louise Mensch just accused Mickey’s hat of being a Russian operative.
OR
Mickey doesn’t ski. Those are “guy who doesn’t ski” clothes, and I can’t even make fun of him because that’s exactly what I wear when it’s cold. (Except for the track pants. I don’t know why Mickey’s wearing Adidas track pants. Maybe his pants are also Russian operatives.)
One of these days, Mickey and Bill Walton are going to have a Dead shirt-off, and I don’t think both of them will survive the ordeal.
OR
In Donald Trump’s dreams, his hands are the size of Bill Walton’s. (Holy shit, look at those paws.)
OR
What’s the doohickey? Bottom right on the near side of the Beam. It looks like a coin slot. Does the Beam take quarters? If someone is playing the Beam and you put your quarter down, do you get next?
OR
Is Mickey about to perform? Or–and this is my guess–has he begun wearing those sweatbands at all times?
“Hey, Billy?”
“Yeah, Mick?”
“Who are all the new people in the band?”
“Piano player’s named Keith. Some kinda bullshit last name.”
“What about the chick?”
“That’s his old lady.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nah.”
“C’mon.”
“Swear.”
…
“He got a big dick or something?”
“Haven’t seen it yet.”
“Tell me if you do.”
“Gotcha.”
“Something wrong with her throat?”
“No, that’s what she sounds like.”
“Okay. Billy?”
“Yeah?”
“Who’s the little guy with all the synthesizers?”
“He belongs to Phil. Neil? I wanna say his name is Neil.”
“Is he contributing?”
“No one’s quite sure. Tell you this, though: this whole tour, him and Phil have been making the most unholiest racket you ever heard during set break. Merch sales went up 20%.”
“Why?”
“They scared everyone into the lobby.”
“Sure. Hey, Bill, it’s nice to be back.”
…
…
…
“Uh-huh.”
“The Rhythm Devils are back together!”
…
…
…
“Yay.”
“Yay!”
“That’s what I said. Yay.”
“Ass! I got horns on my dick!”
ahhROOOOOOOOOOga
Nice dick-horns, Billy.
“Gonna play ’em again!”
ahhROOOOOOOOOOga
That is a very comical sound. What’s with the headphones?
“Listening to the game. Got five grand on the Pistons.”
Holy shit, is that a ponytail?
“I’m going through one of my mid-life crises.”
One of?
“Yeah, I’ve had like a half-dozen. I grow my hair out, buy a sports car, and start plowing real young skank.”
How is that different from your normal life?
“I told you: I grow my hair out.”
Right.
“Real young, too. Wait, maybe not. When am I?
1992.
“Still socially acceptable! Real young, too.”
Jesus, Billy.
“I got a whole system with ’em: first I get ’em an all-day sucker.”
And then?
“Then I buy ’em a lollipop.”
Badum bum.
“I can’t help myself. They’re still covered with, like, a downy fur.”
You’re talking about baby ducks.
“Tawny. With a dewy lip. Oh, Ass, they’re loamy of loin.”
Stop being weird and obscure.
“Loamy!”
Stop it.
“I actually use these horns on the skank.”
In God’s name, how?
“Stick in in their crotches and blast it off. If y’hear an echo? Find new skank.”
We’re done.
Precarious?
“Yo.”
What’s the little one on the left?
“Donna.”
Not the little person. The small wooden box on top of the monitor.
“Humidor.”
Obviously.
OR
Keith’s posture can be used to calculate Pi.
On one hand, you should wear a suit when you meet a Senator; on the other hand, fuck that shit.
OR
I always get Chris Matthews mixed up with Tim Russert and Chris Berman. They’re bloated, gently-talented, and you just know that there’s a whole wall in their office devoted to pictures of them with important people that visitors get undesired tours of.
OR
It’s not Mickey’s fault that he looks ridiculous, Younger Enthusiast. The 80’s/early 90’s were all about the double-breasted suit, which makes 99% of men look like they’re swimming in a box made of fabric.
OR
Pretty sure this is ’93. I have no joke or observation about that fact, but I googled for almost ten minutes straight trying to figure it out, and I didn’t want the information to go to waste.
OR
“No, Mickey, we can’t wire the Rotunda for sound and have a drum circle with the pages.”
“Aw.”
“Jer, you got any stash?”
“I might have something on me, Senator.”
“Break that shit out, then. Let’s get fucked up.”
“Sweet.”
Bobby is over at Phil’s place tonight (no word on Elvis or Putin’s attendance) to help celebrate Terrapin Crossroad’s 5th anniversary; Radio Busterdog is streaming it live right here.
Mickey’s demands for the day:
“SKAAAAAAAANK!”
Hey, BIlly.
“SKANK! SkankskankskankSKANK!”
What are you doing?
“I sing the body electric. And the boner erected.
Please don’t sing Fame.
“Why not? SKANK! I’m gonna plo-ow forever!”
Billy.
“Skank, it’ll see me and cry.”
Billy.
“Remember, remember, remember: SKANK!”
I can’t imagine why the Dead never let you sing.
“Garcia was intimidated by my voice.”
Not true.
“Pipes of an angel, pipe of a drummer. Recorded Nessun Dorma with the Cleveland Philharmonic in ’92.”
No you most certainly did not.
“The reviews called me transcendent, but I don’t do it for the reviews. I do it for the fans. Plus, the Cleveland Phil’s entire flute section is female, and I always wanted to bang an entire section of something.”
None of this happened.
“Those classical musician broads? Hoo boy. They spend their whole lives all by themselves in these little tiny practice rooms, so the second they get their hands on dong? Hog wild.”
Right. But now–
“Hog. Wild.”
–you’re at Sundance.
“I was at Sundance two weeks ago. I’ve already been to Mexico and back.”
You know as well as everyone else that this universe has an impressionistic timeline.
“Whatever. Hate this weather, man. I’m an island boy.”
Utah is cold in the winter.
“Everybody’s wearing big puffy coats! Can’t see a titty. Not one single titty!”
I understand your frustration.
“But I never knew about film festivals, man. There are some seriously insecure women here. Directors of short films. Chicks in their late-30’s with podcasts. Dakota Fanning.”
Stay away from Dakota Fanning.
“Yeah, she’s too young for me. I wouldn’t touch her.”
Good.
“I showed it to her.”
Jesus, Billy. Who’s that guy behind you?
“Never seen him before.”
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