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

Tag: mickey hart (Page 5 of 71)

Brings Me The Jailhouse Key

The guards let Mickey leave at the end of the day; it wasn’t like that time Billy went to jail. This is 1993, and everything started as most Grateful Dead stories do: with a vanful of monks.

Rifkin was driving the Gyuto Monks–the throat-singing Tibetans in the yellow robes–around California when they passed San Quentin. The monks asked him,

“What is that building?”

“San Quentin,” Rifkin answered. “A prison.”

“We sensed great pain and suffering there.”

And Rifkin was very impressed by this because the monks’ robes were so very yellow, and the monks were so very foreign, that he did not say,

“Oh, you sensed great pain in the concrete building with no windows and razor wire everywhere? You got a bad vibe from the place with your monk magic, didja?”

No, he instead pulled the van over so that the monks could pray at towards the jail for a while. The story got back to Mickey, and he responded in the only way he could: by organizing a gospel concert and releasing a live album.

Here’s a little bit of it:

Mickey had good intentions.

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 genus 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.

You’re So Respectable

Are there any California commies you don’t know?

“Oh, Gavin’s not a communist. He’s too handsome for that.”

He’s a dreamboat.

“Right? That’s why California’s the best state: we’ve always had the most fuckable governors.”

Are you including Gray Davis in there?

“Much sexier in person.”

And Jerry Brown?

“50 million Linda Ronstadts can’t be wrong.”

Is that a Member’s Only jacket?

“You bet your ass this is a Member’s Only jacket.”

Awesome.

Capital Gang

“Tim, you seen the beer guy yet?”

“I have not.”

“The Capital should take some lessons from Parliament. There’s like a dozen bars in that building.”

“That’s the trouble with a country founded by Puritans.”

“You said it. So, is this the balcony Evita sang the song from?”

“You’re in the wrong hemisphere.”

OR

Still a bigger crowd than the inauguration.

A Partial Transcript Of Opening Day Of The 116th Congress

CAPITAL BUILDING – CHAMBER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES 

“Order. Order. I call the House to order, please. Order. Hey, Gowdy, put the vodka away.”

“How about I stick it up your ass, McCarthy?”

“Jesus, man.”

“Jesus isn’t coming to Congress anymore. It’s just Muslims and Chinamen here now.”

“GOWDY!”

“Aw, kiss it.”

“Order! Order! I call the 116th Congress to order! Hey! Ted Lieu! You wanna put your pants back on, get off your desk, and stop doing the Fortnite dance?”

“I’m just so happy!”

“Everyone pipe down! Just settle, people, settle. We assemble here in this august hall to, for the 116th time since our nation’s founding, form a legislature, one of three equal branches of government that answer to the President. It is a fraught moment for our democracy, and I am reminded of something that the great Ronald Reagan said: The Democrats are traitors and should be executed on the Mall. I love Reagan. Named every dog I ever owned after that man.”

WHITE MEN CHEERING NOISE

“In the eight years Republicans have been in control of both houses of Congress, we’ve done wonderful things for our country. We’ve fought against Obamacare turning our families into Communists.”

WHITE MEN CHEERING NOISE

“We’ve rescued the economy from Obama’s regulations, which were racist.”

WHITE MEN CHEERING NOISE

“And for the past two years we’ve supported the greatest President this or any country has ever had, Donald J. Trump!”

WHITE MAN LOSING THEIR SHIT NOISE

“But we now find ourselves at the finale, and I will turn over the Speaker’s gavel to my distinguished colleague, and fellow Californian, Nancy Pelosi. But first: And nooooow the end is neeeeeear, and so I faaaace the final cuuuuurtain.

“Okay, just gimme the gavel, Kevin.”

“Fuck off, Nancy. I’m singing the whole song. My friend, I’ll say it cleeeeear, I’ll state my–“

“Just give it to me, jackass!”

“No!”

“Mine! Mine! Mine!”

TWO GROWN-UPS WRESTLING OVER A GAVEL NOISE

“Kick her in the puss!”

“WHO SAID THAT? Whoever said that just lost his office!”

78-YEAR-OLD WOMAN BODYSLAMMING A GUY FROM BAKERSFIELD NOISE

“As I was saying: welcome all legislators to the 116th Congress. For my first act as the new Speaker of the House, I would like to invite the props up here. Children. I meant I wanted to invite the children up here. C’mon, kids. Oh, so diverse. It looks like an old episode of Sesame Streetup in here. Wonderful. Where’s the disabled kid that’s gonna do the gaveling? Didn’t we get a cripple? Okay, next best thing: gimme an Arab kid. You. You, c’mere. Pound this gavel.”

GAVEL POUNDING NOISE

“Good job. The Democratic Party will now begin breast-feeding. This year–”

“MIZ SPEAKER! Steven King from Iowa rises to make a point of order!”

“What is it, Steve?”

“I ain’t fond o’ Jews.”

“We know.”

“Wanted it on the record.”

“Good for you. Allow me to first thank my family, my hometown of San Francisco, the generosity of Israel and her supporters, and the Reverend Louis Farrakhan. I stand before you as the leader of a party united by not our race, gender, or religion, but by our beliefs. What those beliefs are is up for debate, but at least we’re not complete monsters propping up a deadly nitwit. Our agenda is aggressive and will focus on the American family. We will also expel Louis C. K. from the country. ”

“YOU’RE DOING GREAT, NANCE!”

“Not the right time, Mickey.”

“THANKS FOR THE SEATS!”

“Trying to give a speech here, buddy.”

“DO YOU KNOW THERE’S NO BEER GUY?”

“Shh! The Democratic Party has a long and storied history, even if we don’t like telling long stories about that history before the late 60’s. We are the party of inclusion, and now I believe that it is the Democratic Party that can be called, in Ronald Reagan’s phrase, the Big Tent.”

WHISKEY BOTTLE BEING BROKEN OVER A DESK AND WAVED THREATENINGLY NOISE

“You keep Dutch’s name outta your whore mouth!”

“Sit down, King!”

“I’ll carve you up, lady.”

“Take your fat ass back to Long Island.”

BELLIGERENT BIGOT BEING WRESTLED TO THE GROUND NOISE

“As I was saying, this Congress must work together. All of its members are welcome in my office at any time. Except for the 21 dead motherfuckers who voted against me for Speaker. There’s a reason I’m still in charge, dipshits. If I was a man, they’d talk about me like they talk about Rayburn. I’m gonna rip the skin off your bodies. You’re never gonna see it coming.”

“Rise to speak, Madam Speaker!”

“What are you doing here, Senator Cruz? This is the House.”

“My new beard told me I needed to speak up during this occasion. I have here in my possession color photographs of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez engaged in sexual activity.”

“What?”

“These photos have recently emerged. They depict Miss Ocasio-Cortez when she was in high school. She is kissing a boy. The kiss in what’s referred to as the ‘French’ style, meaning there is a lingual component to the interaction. And if you look at this picture right here, you’ll notice the boy’s right hand. He is clearly going for tit.”

“Senator Cruz.”

“I’ve gone for plenty of tit, and I can tell you flat-out: that boy’s going for tit. See how all the muscles in his forearm are tensed up? That’s your tell.”

“Senator Cruz.”

“And if we can extrapolate from the wanton and randy expression on Miss Ocasio-Cortez’ face, she was gonna give up the tit. That’s what kind of woman we’re dealing with here, Madame Speaker. Just giving up the tit left and right.”

“I have masturbated to these photos.”

“OUT! Out! Go back to your cloakroom and reenact Eyes Wide Shut or whatever it is you pompous weirdos do over there on your side of the building. Go!”

POSSIBLE ALIEN BEING ESCORTED, MASTURBATING, OFF OF THE HOUSE FLOOR NOISE

“Okay, let’s just wrap this up. Any one of you says the ‘I’ word in public, and I use your skull as a toilet. Let’s go call some donors!”

Answer This Question Without Research*

“You got any floss?”

“I don’t, Mickey.”

“Matchbook?”

“Sorry.”

“Got about a pound of half-smoke caught in here. You ever been to Ben’s?”

“The hot dog place? I don’t believe I have.”

“The best dogs in the world. And it’s one of the oldest black-owned establishments in the city, so–”

“You probably should have stopped talking before the ‘so.'”

“–I can always get a drum circle going.”

“Ah. I was correct.”

“Beer here!”

“Beer here!”

“Mickey, you’re yelling at Adam Schiff.”

“I don’t give a shit what the kid’s name is. I just need a brewski.”

“There’s no beer guy here.”

“I have to go to the concession stand? Sure. You want nachos?”

“Yes, please.”

“Hey! Tony Bennett! You want nachos?”

“Oh, that’s sweet of ya, Mick. Such a good kid. What a wonderful and generous offer to make, but I’m gonna take a rain check on that delicious Mexican treat. The dairy isn’t good for my throat or my hairpiece.”

“Beer?’

“Two, please.”

 

 

*Is that Tony’s wife or grandchild?

Gunn & Hart, Private Dicks

“I just wanna tell you again how much I appreciate you bringing me to the game, Bill.”

“And I just want to tell you once more that I am not Bill Walton, and this is not a basketball game.”

“You’re old, white, and tall.”

“Those points notwithstanding, Mick. I’m Tim Gunn.”

“Very cool name. Are you a punker?”

“No. It’s my rel name. I’m on television.”

“Like Elvira?”

“Sort of.”

“That woman’s got some sweater-meat.”

“Mickey, please.”

“Could feed a family of six for a whole winter.”

“This is not the appropriate venue for that kind of talk.”

“There’s swastikas all over the chairs and I can’t talk titty?”

“Oh, that is an unfortunate pattern.”

“Right?”

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