Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: oteil burbridge (page 1 of 8)

One Dead, Two Company

I’m gonna need everyone who isn’t Bobby or Oteil to take his hand off his dick. Thank you.








When did the Dead become Metallica? Are we doing the all-black thing now? I’m fine with it, but Josh wont be if he ever shows up for rehearsal.


Seriously, Jeff, let go of your dong.

Up And Down The (Broward) County LIne

Good for you, Oteil and Oteil’s wife.

“Well, we live around Parkland and we know some of the students. It’s personal for us.”

I wasn’t making a joke.

“You usually do.”

Not about this.


Do your shorts have a Stealie on them?

“Go away.”

Because you’re the new Mickey.



Franti Raid

“You, uh, wanna do a thing?”

“Is the thing drumming?”


“Fine, I guess.”


Jeff Chimenti wearing a hat is like Scarlett Johansson wearing a space suit. Do not keep your beauty to yourself, Jeff Chimenti.  Does the eagle refuse to fly in fear of embarrassing the pigeon? Let the world see your silvery goodness.


Double potato salad.


I feel like Josh is showing me his invisible engagement ring.


“Thoughts on my Ass! Look at my gum!”

No, thank you, Billy.


Fine. Yes, you have gum in your mouth.

“Sex gum.”

What does that even mean?

“Viagra-flavored. Gum gets soft, and Billy gets hard.”


“I’m gonna stick it in stuff.”

Your dick or the gum?

“Both! I used to know some skank in Indianapolis. This chick could chew gum with her swimmin’ hole. Blow bubbles, the whole nine yards. I tried to get her on Star Search, but Ed McMahon called the cops on us.”

Good story.

“I got a million of ’em.”

Thigh-na Doll

You’re just Grateful Deading as hard as you can at this point, aren’t you?

“Settling into the role.”

Do you wanna put your thighs away?

“Skies are clear, thighs are here.”

Not a saying.

“Chicks get soaked, and men pop rods,
When Big Oteil takes out his quads.”

Not a poem.

“Wanna check out the hammies?”


“Dude, peep the hammies.”

I’m fine.

“Hammies, bro.”

Stop saying “hammies.” Those suckers are awfully tight.

“Ball control. Can’t give the boys an escape route. Otherwise, I’m doing my little bouncey-dance and the front row gets a surprise.”

Sure. Where’d you get the sweatbands?

“Mickey has four road cases full.”

Of course he does.

Class Picture

Are you entwined with the teenager, jackass?

“I’m posing coquettishly.”

Josh, I swear to Christ, if you get caught with a teenager…actually, it would be ironic.

“I know, right? They all get away with it, and I get busted?”

Just suck in that left leg, you human bandana.

“No need for that.”

Stop playing footsie with the traumatized children.

“They’re not children, Dude, spaghetti straps.”

I will slap your pretty mouth if you get the Grateful Dead in trouble, Josh Meyers.

“All right, all right. You wanna check on Billy, though.”

Oh, God. Billy?

“I’m surrounded, Ass.”

Oh, God. Just breathe, man.

“30 years ago, this room would’ve looked like a chicken coop after a fox got done with it.”

Well, it’s not 30 years ago. You’re old enough to be their grandfather.


Do NOT call these girls skank!

“No. No skank. Not here.”


“Not yet. But I see some potential in at least three chicks.”

Holy shit, dude. Not okay. All of you need to keep away from–


“I stole him away from Josh. Look at him. He’s dewy.”

I need ALL OF THE GRATEFUL DEAD to move away from the teenagers.

“It’s okay, it’s totally cool. I got his parents to sign over custody to me. I legally adopted him.”

You pulled a Steven Tyler?

“Alternately, a Ted Nugent. But, uh, yeah.”

Everything about this is in poor taste.

“The heart wants what the heart wants.”

Just go help Bobby up.

Babies, Part 2

“Billy, have you seen my son?”

“Black Phil, Jr.?”

“That is not his name, and that is not my name.”

“Nah, haven’t seen him.”

“I’ve been told otherwise.”

“By who?”

“The guy who writes this bullshit.”

“Thoughts on my Ass? Fuck him. He makes stuff up.”

“Billy, gimme my kid back.”

“You’re just gonna send him to school! I wanna make him awesome.”


“I’m sorry. The plan is already in action.”

“Oh, hell, no. My son will not be a drummer.”

“And we got a guy coming by in an hour to teach him how to pick locks.”

“I’m calling the cops.”

It’s A Thousand Pages, Give Or Take A Few

Why are you wearing all-black. George R. R. Martin? You’re at a beach resort.

“Ah, my good sir! You’ve noted my ebon garb! It represents House Marghalis, who are–”

NO. No. No, no, no. I don’t care. Stop talking.

“You shan’t upbraid me with the all-too-cliched ‘Get back to writing, George,” shall you?”

Shit, no.

“A gentleman!”

It’s not that. I just don’t give a shit about The Dragonfucker Chronicles or whatever it is you write.

“You’re quite rude, you know.”

Shut up and go buy a bathing suit.

I’ll Meet You At The Jamboree


I see what you did there. Goddamn, Oteil: that is some graduate-level Dead shirt-wearin’.

“Hey, it’s free. You know how much Disney World costs? I’m down around ten thousand since breakfast.”

You gonna get a giant turkey leg?

“Already had two, planning on a third.”

Kid met Mickey yet?

“He met Mickey a couple of tours ago.”

Not the drummer. The mouse.

“Yeah. Didn’t care for him. My boy’s a Donald man.”

Smart kid.

Boys On The Radio

“Oteil Brubridge, welcome back to the Radio Randy Show on SiriusXM’s JamOn channel.”

“Hey, Radio Randy. You look different from last time we talked.”

“I’m an entirely different human being.”


“‘Radio Randy’ isn’t a name so much as it is a title. Or a curse.”

“Like the Ghost Rider?”

“Oh, my God, yes. Exactly. You’re my first guest to understand that.”

“How many guests have you had so far?”

“You’re the first.”

“Randy, is that going to be the level of the jokes for the whole interview?”

“It is.”


“Oteil, you’ve got your own band now. How is it different from playing with Dead & Company?”

“I get a much bigger chunk of a much smaller check.”

“Concisely stated.”

“I’m not a chatterbox, Randy.”

“Why is there a massive picture of you behind yourself?”

“So that bitches can recognize.”

“Great, great. If you had to eat a member of Dead & Company, who would it be?”


“You didn’t even have to think about that.”

“Didn’t have to. Already done all my thinking on that subject. See, John is the youngest, so you’d think he’d be tenderest, but he works out too much. Chimenti’s got a couple years on him, but he never gets off that piano bench. He’s like a veal with good hair. I don’t even think you’d need a knife.”

“Definitely not an original Dead, huh?”

“Oh, no. That meat’s bad. I mean, I would taste some of Bobby just out of respect. Otherwise, no.”

“Oteil, let’s take a call.”

“We can do that?”

“Sure, why not? Caller, you’re on.”

“Uh, hi? Is my dad there?”

“I thought you said we were going camping this weekend, Pop.”

“This isn’t your father, John Mayer.”

“Who is it?”

“Radio Randy.”

“Oh. Is my father there?”


“No. He’s not.”

“Ah. Do you wanna take me camping?”

“I don’t really have time, buddy. Gotta go.”

“Why won’t my money buy me happi–”


“That was weird, Oteil.”

“He’s so much needier than you’d assume.”

“I see that now.”

“You ever read The Great Gatsby?”


“The scene where Gatsby’s showing Daisy all his shirts? That’s the vibe from Mayer every minute you’re with him. It’s exhausting.”

“Well, he’s gone now.”

“Okay. Randy?”


“Are those the lights, or did you vomit bile onto the front of your shirt?”

“The second thing.”


“My insides are dying.”

“And yet this is still the best interview I’ve ever done with JamOn.”


What in God’s name is that?



“Mash-up, baby. I love mixing instruments up. Ever seen my fluba?”




“I also got a pianoboe.”


“You’re catching on quick.”

I do that.

“And a Jew’s harpsichord.”

Is that a Jew’s harp mixed with a harpsichord?

“No, it’s just a harpsichord. But I bought it from a guy named Murray.”

If I give you money, will you buy a pair of grown-up shoes?

“Absolutely not.”

Just checking.

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