Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: oteil burbridge (Page 4 of 10)

Kid Can’t Read At 17

November 14, 2017 / / 8 Comments

Hey, Garcia. Whatcha doing?

“Soloing.”

You love that.

“It ain’t the pits.”

Did you pick out all the symbols for the fretboard?

“Kinda. I said ‘Put some bullshit on it,’ and Dougie ran with the concept.”

What does it all mean?

“I don’t speak hieroglyph, man. Ask an Egyptian.”

Oh, I know one. Hey, Oteil?

“You may call me Opteil.”

Like Ptolemy. Nice.

“The joke only works in print.”

Still, it’s a good one. Anyway, can you read hieroglyphics?

“Are you accusing a black man of being illiterate?”

HIEROGLYPHICS. Totally not an offensive question.

“I’m fucking with you.”

It’s just that I got Miles Davis calling me racist all the time now. I’m overly sensitive.

“Can’t have that. Worst part of racism is the temporary discomfort it causes white people.”

So true. So fucking true.

“Yes, I can read hieroglyphics.”

How’d you learn?

“Rosetta Stone.”

Nice.

“I’m on fire tonight.”

You are. So, what does Wolf’s fretboard say?

“Huh. Lemme see.”

..

“Interesting.”

…

“Oh, sure.”

…

“Hmm.”

Well?

“It’s a recipe for spaghetti bolognese.”

Was not expecting that.

“Nope. Hey, what did the Ancient Egyptian student say to the spelling teacher?”

What?

“How many birds in pharaoh?”

Killing it, man.

“I feel good in this outfit.”

It suits you.

Gets Cold In The Mountains

August 9, 2017 / / 1 Comment

Stay away from the one on the right.

“Mountain Girl?”

My right.

“Oh. Yeah, no problem. Trixie’s a beautiful woman, but I’m a happily married man.”

How old’s the kid now?

“Going on three.”

Teaching him how to play yet?

“Of course! Dead’s gonna need a new bass player in a couple decades.”

The music’s never gonna stop, is it?

“Nope. Hey, uh, I thought you were taking care of that guy.”

Which guy?

“You know which guy.”

Goddammit.

“You vill take care of Putin?”

I’m gonna chase your Commie ass back to the Caucuses.

“Putin do nothing wrong. Is vitch hunt.”

No witch hunt, no witch hunt.

“Leave Putin alone. Is time for…how you say in English? Covfefe?”

Coffee.

“You see vhat Putin did?”

Yes.

“Putin love coffee. Best part of vaking up is having your enemies murdered. And also Folger’s.”

Get away from Red Rocks.

“Red Rocks is historically part of Russia.”

Totally isn’t.

“Many Russian citizens here being oppressed by jam bands. Putin liberate.”

The only thing you liberate is other people’s money.

“Use money to buy giant hats. You like hat?”

No!

“You like hat?”

No.

…

“You like hat?”

Yeah, fine, it’s a cool hat.

“And jacket?”

Jacket’s pretty cool, too.

“Putin vins again.”

I hate you.

“Da.”

Putting The Red In Red Rocks

August 7, 2017 / / 6 Comments

“Y’know, Mrs. Adams-Girl-Kesey-Garcia, I just introduced a proprietary strain of weed under my own brand.”

“Really?

“Yeah. Very exciting. Do you know anything about growing weed?”

…

“You’re adorable.”

“What did I say?”

“Nothing, junior. Hey, who is that guy?”

“The shirtless one in the river over there? He looks familiar”

“Getting a bad vibe off him.”

“I’ll check him out.”

“Would you?”

“Course. Hey! Can I help you?’

“Nyet need help.”

“Putin catch fish.”

“Are you supposed to be here?”

“Putin go vhere Putin vant.”

“Can I see your pass?”

“Pecs are pass.”

“They’re not.”

“You are nyet in charge, Black Phil.”

“Do not call me that. And where’d you get a river from?”

“Bring vith me.”

“You can do that?”

“Da. Is most beautiful river in world. Many people say this.”

“Whatever. You’re bothering MG, and you’ve got to go.”

“Vhat!? You are 69’ing Putin?”

…

“86. You mean 86’ing.”

“Ah. English nyet idiomatic.”

“It’s pretty good, man. Lot better than my Russian.”

“Spaceeba. Vould you like to learn Russian vord?”

“Sure.”

“Vord is kompromat.”

“Ooh, that sounds neat. What does it mean?”

“Come back to hotel and Putin show you.”

“Okay.”

“OTEIL! Go back in the dressing room!’

“Aww, Mountain Girl, I was playing with my new friend.”

“Now, mister!”

“Okay.”

“And YOU!”

“Vhat? Putin do nothing, Voman of Mountains.”

“Go! Get out of here before I take my shoe off!”

“But I vas fish–”

“NOW!”

“Da, ma’am.”

Tiger Tiger, Burbridge Bright

August 7, 2017 / / 3 Comments

Hey, Oteil. Whatcha doing?

“Jerry Tribute! Seeing my friends, playing some of the Big Guy’s tunes, having a good time!”

You’re a positive dude.

“I am.”

You liking Colorado?

“Parts of it. Parts of Colorado are delightful.”

And the rest of it?

“Alabama with mountains.”

True. You should stay in the back of the bus while you’re there.

“Excuse me?”

Dude, I meant the master bedroom of your luxury cruiser.

“Still.”

How heavy is that thing?

“I think it’s made from a neutron star.”

That’s what I hear.

“Time goes faster when you’re near it.”

Sure did for Garcia.

“Maybe that was it.”

Could be. Or the smoking, heroin, and ice cream.

“A combination of the four.”

Probably.

An Ending No One Including Me Saw Coming

July 30, 2017 / / 4 Comments

Where were you last night?

Excuse me?

There were no posts.

So? I take time away.

You don’t. You have no life.

I do. If you have to know, I had a date.

No. You have a better chance of getting that dog-sized elephant you want than getting a date.

Nope. Date.

You are aware that I’m you, right? I’m not a separate character like Elvis or Red Metal Stool.

Or Sleepy Batman.

KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF WITH SLEEPY BATMAN!

He’s a fan favorite.

I’m ignoring you. You didn’t have a date.

No.

Why do you lie?

It’s fun.

Tell the nice people what you did.

Nothing. Literally nothing. I stole the Phish show, read The Sun & The Moon & The Rolling Stones by Rich Cohen, and went to bed at 11:30.

11:30 PM?

Yeah.

That’s, like, seven hours before your normal bedtime. How do you even do that?

Don’t worry about it. But now I’m good. Back on a normal schedule.

And by “normal schedule,” you mean “fucking around until three in the morning and then–just as you hit a good stride with the sentences and whatnot–the sun coming up and you recoiling like a dracula?”

Yes.

Gotcha. So why are you procrastinating by talking to me?

I thought you were me.

We’re a biune god. Answer me, damn you.

Well, I was nervous that I couldn’t write anymore. Hadn’t done it in, like, 38 hours. Maybe I pissed or shit out my genius.

Not a thing.

It totally is. Francis Ford Coppola did it in ’81. Huge meal of rotelli and bocceballica and scaramucci–

Not actual foods.

–and the next morning: boom. Shit out every last good decision in him.

Do you have a point, or are you just wasting the nice people’s time peering around inside your own ass?

Third option! Picture of Oteil and Amir!

Really?

What?

You think people won’t know that you’ve been staring at that picture for a week trying to figure out one of your little skitches for it and couldn’t come up with anything, so you’re just dumping it here in the middle of a bunch of time-wasting bullshit?

…

Why are you a fucking snitch?

You’re see-through. You’re a living wet tee-shirt, and your soul is the nipples. Everyone can tell what you are.

I’m gonna kill you and make it look like a suicide.

OF COURSE IT WOULD LOOK LIKE A SUICIDE, YOU FUCKWIT! I’M YOU.

DON’T TELL ME WHO I AM!

“Guys! HeyYAAAAAWWWNguys. Could you keep it down?

That better not be who I think it is.

Goddammit.

Hey, Sleepy Batman.

“Sup, bro. Can you keep it to a dull roar?”

Sorry, man.

I hate everything about this.

Brush, Back

July 12, 2017 / / 2 Comments

Stop playing Oteil.

“Is that his name?”

Yes.

“Huh. I’m used to people with normal names like Ramrod or Pigpen.”

Those were both nicknames, Mickey.

“You’re shitting me.”

No. So, what are you up to since the tour ended?

“Waiting for the next one.”

Sure.

“And drumming.”

Right.

“Rum.”

I assumed.

“Isn’t Josh going on tour now?”

Yeah. He’s soloing and wearing clothes all across this great country for the rest of the summer.

“You don’t say.”

A Conversation With Billy That Goes Just How You’d Assume

July 8, 2017 / / 1 Comment

Hey, Billy. Whatcha doing?

“I think I’m a Big Brother now or something.”

No.

“Helping out an underprivileged kid from the inner-city.”

No.

“No?”

No.

“Am I being mugged?”

Jesus, man.

“World’s changing, Ass. Used to be you had to be white to be a Grateful Dead. Or at least Mexican. Now there’s a pretty chick, a black guy, and a Jew!”

First off: that is not a pretty chick, it’s John Mayer.

“Tell that to my boner.”

Second: his name is Oteil.

“Oteil’s not a Jewish name.”

The black guy!

“Makes sense. Jewish guys are named Schmucky or Lumpberg or Amir.”

Or Mickey. Mickey’s the Jew.

“Yeah? Thanks for telling me.”

BEEP BOP BEEP

What is that?

“Updating my Jew files on the ol’ Apple Watch.”

Why?

“Because it’s 2017. What am I supposed to do, write it down like a caveman?”

We’re done.

Bro-Zone

July 6, 2017 / / 3 Comments

Hey, guys. Whatcha doing?

“Talking shit about Billy.”

Which one of you said that?

“Both of us.”

Makes sense.

OR

I don’t know how I feel about the phone-necklace. Is the cord elastic? Otherwise, you’re gonna be doing a real chicken-wing deal trying to text. Does Oteil not have pockets? Did Jeff Chimenti steal Oteil’s pockets? (As established, things disappear around Jeff Chimenti.) What about a fanny pack? Bobby has several, and he’s a generous man.

OR

Oteil has lovely skin. I bet that pisses John Mayer off.

“I wash, and I wash, and I wash…”

OR

“Phil, you sure you don’t wanna stop by for one Dead & Company show? Sit in for a song?”

“Mickey gonna whack a pair of stolen shoes together behind me?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Hard pass.”

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