That is all.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: mickey hart (Page 62 of 71)
Okay, pranksters or not, the other guys should have noticed what Billy was staring at and warned Clive Davis about what was going to happen.
Also, for some reason, Mickey and Keith are taking this opportunity to work out their new secret handshake.
First: Billy’s had just about enough of this happy horseshit, thank you.
Second: Bobby’s impression of Popeye is hilarious, apparently.
Third: Garcia is still trying to hide from the T-Rex by standing still.
This group of people is 28.5% presentable.
Also: Bobby does not know how mops work.
BOBBY, GUARD YOUR DICK! BILLY IS STARING AT IT WITH BLOODHUNGER!
Why would you leave yourself open like that…and his other hand’s full. He’s just waiting there like the Benelux nations in 1940. Pacifism is only a viable creed if the guy standing next to you isn’t Billy.
And Mrs. Donna Jean is simply adorbs and we are going to talk about what the hell the deal is with her and Keith soon, because this photo espacially illustrates a, shall we say, discrepancy.
I’ll give Phil credit for another good choice: none of that acoustic-electric bass Frankenstein’s monster crap for him. Those wooden compromises–their proportions all wrong to suit the aesthetics of the guitar and the mathematics of that low E string. They showed up on Unplugged and made this rather unmusical fwANG sound.
Bobby played an Ovation. If you’re familiar with guitars, and of a certain age, you’ll understand there’s a lot packed into those four words.
Both of the them stole the costumes and wore the makeup home.
Billy incorporated it into his love-making by wearing it during his prostate exam. Now, you might think I’ve made an error in calling a prostate exam love-making, so I’ll just say this: it was the way Billy did it.
Billy didn’t actually role-play or anything, it was just that today was the day Billy got his prostate milked and he had been fixating on it, much to the chagrin of those interns, their parents, the lawyers involved, the Hague (When Billy gets anxious, he commits war crimes. You know: some people knit, Billy cleanses), and most tragically, that police horse who was just days away from retirement.
So, he just wore the thing to the doctor’s office, where he commandeered the PA system and screamed, “LET’S DO THIS THING!” which startled Dr. Goldblatt and really startled Mr. Teitelbaum, whose ass contained Dr. Goldblatt’s suddenly terrified finger, and all of a sudden Billy’s cape was pulled up over his head, revealing that, for reasons known only to him (and probably not even to him, really: Billy was an instinct kind of dude), Billy had forced the makeup artists to “red up them cheeks, girls!” (I am quoting.)
And then there were tears. Blood–there’s always blood, yes, but this time it was different. There were buds of hope under the deep thaw of shame and fluids and mustard (Billy had stopped for hot dogs.) There was a sense of gratitude: the opposite of survivor’s guilt; they had been to the mountain. Catharsis?
Catharsis.
Mickey just ran onto a crowded bus with a piece of lumber and screamed, “BWAH! I’m the devil!” and started swinging.
p.s. Neither Dr. Goldblatt nor Mr. Teitelbaum survived, and not one person in their bereaved families thinks those jokes that are going around are funny at all.
Ladies and gentlemen, if you look carefully behind Garcia, you’ll see the rarest of Dead facial hair configurations: the Billy Beard.
Dopey, Punchy, The Other Punchy, Condescendingy, Sexy, and Gimli.
Sometimes, it was like no one had any respect for T-shirt Tuesday, and Phil noticed. It was one of the things he wrote down in his book.
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