Hey, Mickey. How you–
“I GOT INVITED SOMEWHERE!”
–doing annnnnnd we’re done.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: mickey hart (Page 35 of 71)
“I can’t even look at you right now.”
“You better not look at me.”
“I’ll look wherever I want, Vulcan bastard.”
“I’ll stick my dick in that butt-chin of yours, preppy asslicker.”
“Wouldn’t even reach the bottom.”
“Would, too.”
“My butt-chin would completely enswallow your microschlong and–”
“Not true: it’s meaty and capacious.”
“–you’d just wriggle around and make slappy noises–”
“Shut up, Bobby!”
“–and be all, ‘Uhhhh, can you feel me inside you, butt-chin?'”
…
“You go too far.”
“Play my song.”
“EAT MY DICK.”
“NO, YOU EAT YOUR DICK.”
“GRNAAAAA! I’M A MONSTER! GRNAAAA!”
“Knock it off, Bill Walton.”
“Not me.”
“Knock it off, Mickey.”
“Nope.”
“Knock it off, Virginia Madsen.”
“Sorry, Steve Young.”
Also: those women are Steve Young’s wives.
Joan Baez sucks.
“Oh, hi. I didn’t see you there, mostly because I’m facing the opposite direction, but I couldn’t help but assume you were admiring my overall backyard area: calves, hammies, and of course my ‘tocks, wrapped in the finest denim that Creepy Ernie helped me into almost a dozen times when I bought them.
“My name’s Bob Weir. Yes, that Bob Weir, but today I’m not speaking to you as co-author of the popular children’s book Panther Dream, but as a licensed gym-attender and shorts-wearer. Let me help you get the short shorts body you’ve always wanted.
“Science: short shorts are freedom. Fact: short shorts are the best. Truth: everyone wants to wear short shorts. Why don’t they? Fear.
“Fear is the short shorts-killer.
“Let that fear wash over you, though, and when it’s gone: Bobby will be there. And, I’ll have kettleballs or those stupid ropes dummies are always hucking up and down or maybe we’ll go for a swim or bike ride like civilized people. Neither of us will know what exercise we’re doing, or what equipment will be necessary for it, or even when and where to meet until we’re already sweating.
“I call it Bobbercise.
“We will hit the gym and life weights; we will hit the gymnasium and swing clubs around while wearing grey sweatsuits; we will hit the gymnasia and oil ourselves thoroughly and engage in pankration.
“Then we shall eat, and take pictures of our food, and weigh our food, and take pictures of the food on the scale; not in that order.”
“Dammit, Weir: could you concentrate on the damn song, please?”
“HE DOES IT, TOO!”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, MICKEY!”
“COME BACK HERE AND MAKE ME!”
“I like Lost Sailor.”
“Great. You play drums on it.”
“Okay.”
“Look, Mick: they gave me drumsticks! Like a grown-up!”
“Godammit, I gotta get a Benjy.”
“I’m gonna knock that smile off your face, you slapdick.”
“Kiss my nuts, princess.”
“Play the song right.”
“No.”
“Play it right!”
“No!”
“I will throw a park bench at your chest.”
“Wonder how it’ll feel to have your mullet shoved up your ass.”
“Better then it’ll feel to have that cowbell shoved up yours.”
“You leave the cowbell out of it.”
“People have been asking you to do that for years.”
…
“Play the–”
“I DON’T WANNA.”
“–song right, Mickey.”
- If you combine all the facial hair in this picture, you have two full beards.
- As always, Bearded Mickey is terrifying.
- Even Billy looks a little scared of him.
- But Bill Walton?
- Bill Walton’s keeping his eyes on Billy, because Bill Walton was taught to play defense by Coach Wooden.
- Mickey looks like an orthodox rabbi condemning a woman for wearing shorts.
- If Billy was a true friend, he’d give Bill Walton his mustache.
- Lincoln and Alexander Godunov in Witness: these are the only men who have ever truly rocked the chinstrap.
- In about ten minutes, someone’s dick is getting punched and it’s gonna be over someone getting a towel while someone else didn’t.
- When it comes to towels, the Dead always had a Favored Nations clause in the contract: if one Grateful Dead got a towel, then all of them got a towel.
- It prevented a lot of dickpunching.
- Bill Walton looks like Wooly Willy.
I’ll see you there, right? Highlight of my year: pooping in a Virginia field in September. Sleeping in a tent next to humping strangers, eating while I stand up, Warren Haynes: man, this is gonna be great.
TotD is not particularly fancy. I slept on a couch last month, but it should be noted that it was a leather couch in an AirBnB in a rapidly genritfying neighborhood. My living situation is allowed to be scruffy, but it must be permanent; I will not sleep under a nylon roof. Camping is just not for me.
Jews and camps…
Anyway, if you’re there or going or streaming it or whatever: have a blast, but I will be making love to my air conditioner. I do have some random thoughts, though:
- Fishbone’s still around? Didn’t half of them get thrown in jail for kidnapping the other half?
- Will Robert Plant be not playing Zep songs at the crowd again? Those fuckers at the Grammys rewarded him one time for not playing Zep songs and now all he does is not play Zep songs. Fuck that guy: play Zep songs.
- Did anyone ever answer Robert Plant about the remembering laughter thing?
- No Umphries? What the fuck, man.
- Once again: fucked by Peter Shapiro.
- I think Peter Shapiro’s in love with me the amount he fucks me.
- I mean, the String Cheese Incident is gonna be there, so that’s awesome.
- But, no Umphries.
- Was Billy’s departure and Phil’s arrival worked out between the two camps as to not have them in the same place at the same time?
- Just asking questions, man.
- But, if so: you know Billy put Benjy on the phone to handle it just to be a dick.
- Can you see Jill and Peter Shapiro pushing the phone back and forth at one another?
- “You do it.”
- “This is what you get paid for.”
- “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
- And so on.
- Again: just asking questions.
- Man.
- Steve Earle is the musical version of The Wire.
- Decipher that how you will.
- WAIT: Billy is playing with Jefferson Airplane on Friday right after Phil!
- Fun.
- Also: Jefferson Airplane sucked. In every incarnation and in every way, and they are celebrating their 50th anniversary in a pasture in Virginia instead of a football stadium.
- They’re not even headlining.
- (Although, this group of musician is so far way from being the actual Jefferson Airplane that it includes G.E. Smith, who is still performing despite having the worst case of Les Palsy known to man.)
- Hey! You got your String Cheese in my Doobie!
- Hey! You got your Doobie in my String Cheese!
- Well, you should probably just throw the results out, as it will surely be terrible.
- Is Michael McDonald even going to be there, or just the guy who looked like he was the lead on WKRP?
- The Oh Hellos, you go to your room and don’t come out until you’ve thought up a good band name.
- You, too, Slightly Stoopid.
- In fact, Slightly Stoopid: go fuck yourself with your deliberately shit band name.
- Put some effort into life.
- Mickey just announced that he would be playing with Bobby on Saturday night, and if Bobby doesn’t play Lost Sailor, I will lose all respect for him
I need one of you to disprove this hypothesis: Phil and Billy are Benjamin Buttoning. It’s the only solution left to the question of how two Grateful Deads look better at age 70 than they did at age 40.
Billy looks like a cop who’s been placed on paid leave.
Sometimes the bullshit and legend and ego and revisionist historiographying get in the way and it’s easy to forget that they started out as friends who put stickers on each other.
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