It was the third T-Shirt Tuesday in a row that only Parish had participated in and Pig had just about had it.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: mickey hart (Page 60 of 71)
What the fuck is that thing on Billy’s head?
Seriously, I’m freaking out here.
“No, Bobby: last time we played Pull My Finger, you shit your pants. You take things too far, man.”
- Keith, dude…don’t put your face on the goddamn mop. Can’t even believe I had to tell a man in his thirties that, to be honest.
- That look Garcia’s giving Bobby’s mop? That’s the look, that’s the look of love.
- Billy’s a fucking Tom Waits song over there.
- The skull cradled in Mickey’s arm wasn’t a skull the morning this photo was taken: it was a man, a man with a family and a wife and a mistress and a boyfriend who just happened to order the last bear claw at the coffee shop. Mickey loves his bear claws.
- Good evening, Mrs. Donna Jean: would you care to join me for some wine and cheese and barbiturates?
- Seriously, Billy looks like the first chapter of Flowers for Algernon.
“Garcia! Garcia! Garcia!”
“Yes, Bob?”
“Remember that movie Total Recall?”
…
“Yeah. I see it, Bob. Thanks, buddy.”
A rare sight indeed: Mickey winning Best Hair
The look on the eagle’s face says it all.
The Pig and Keith and Brent thing is well-intentioned, and the attention to detail on Phil is laudable, but if Billy or Mickey ever saw how small they were in comparison to everyone else, the rest of the afternoon would be measured in Holiday Inn bars, “borrowed” cars in ditches, and small East African military dictatorships that both flourish under Billy and Mickey’s benevolent, though confused rule, then implode into death and sin, when MIckey finds different native people banging on things and drags Billy along.
It’s a Stealie! Their faces make–
Yes, we allOOH, a Stealie!
—a Steal…you are a horrid thief: the thunder of others’ is your prize.
…
Nice.
Plus, Billy and Mickey are staring fucking LOVINGLY at each other. It’s unsettling.
And where’s fucking Donna?
Start at Bobby’s head, then look directly north about an inch, right next to Billy’s cymbals.
Mickey had been insisting that Bobby knew him, and had in fact known him for almost 50 years, but Bobby was pretty sure his drummer’s name was Billy and no one would be dumb enough to have two drummers in the same band, so Bobby kept a watchful eye out.
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