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

Tag: phil lesh (Page 1 of 105)

Mustachiot

Goddammit, Phil–

“Fuck off, wretch.”

–are you using the Time Sheath to avoid quarantine again?

“Missed my mustache.”

It’s a beaut.

“Tough shaving it off. Sucker fought back. Remember my beard?”

Glorious thatch.

“Oh, yeah. Took a team of three professionals to get it off my face.”

You got some tenacious follicles.

“Once they get a grip, man.”

What are you and Cutler talking about?

“No idea. Between you and me, I’ve never understood a single word out of the man’s mouth. But, you know, he worked for the Stones.”

Sure. Don’t give 1970 coronavirus, please.

“Get off my back. I just needed a minute without that fucking mask.”

I get it.

Shoebox Of Rain

Hey, Phil. Whatcha doing?

“Holding up a tennis shoe, dipshit. You blind?”

I’m not blind.

“That’s good. You can’t see how ugly you are.”

Thank you. What’s with the sneaker?

“No idea. Grahame said to hold it up. I didn’t want to, but he hid the remote.”

Been watching a lot of teevee during the pandemic?

“Going through about a dozenĀ Law & Orders a day. I got three or four Tivos full of ’em. Great show. So, what the hell is this monstrosity?

Nike made them for the sneakerhead market.

“Is that a sex thing?”

No. Sneakers are, like, art or something now. People collect ’em. There’s a huge secondary market.

“Christ, your generation is a disappointment.”

I don’t disagree. Nice couch.

“Stop looking at me and my things.”

Okay.

 

 

Won’t You, Gentleman, Have A Pepsi?

“Fragile little flower, aren’t you?”

Excuse me?

“One little cancer and you lay down and die. I beat cancer more times than Joe Jackson beat Tito. I beat cancer three times while I was taking a shit this morning.”

Really?

“I forgot my phone. Had nothing to do.”

Sure.

“We tell disease to go fuck itself. You know I had Lou Gehrig’s for two weeks in 1992?”

You did? What happened.

“I told Lou to fuck himself! Weren’t you listening to me?”

Sorry.

“Pay attention, you little creep.”

I said I was sorry.

“Don’t cower. You leave your warm bed in the cold, dark dawn. You dress by feel. Your rifle is already loaded, and you can sling it over your shoulder without waking your family, and you go to the ancient wood. You go to the ancient wood with your rifle and find the disease and shoot the motherfucker right between the eyes. That’s what you do. Don’t you fucking cower.”

Yeah, okay.

“And get back to the jokes, dirtdick. No one wants to hear you whine.”

You’re probably right. What’s in the briefcase?

“Bottle of Beaujolais, half-an-ounce of Merck coke, and a couple X-Man comics.”

Cool.

I Turn To Stone

Hey, Phil.

“Hey, Ballsack.”

Is that your new name for me?

“It’s not new.”

Okay. Why aren’t you facing the crowd?

“Nothing but uggos out there tonight. All of their features are in the wrong places. Can’t even look at them.”

You have such contempt for your fans.

“C’mon, man. Look at ’em. It’s like all their faces were torn off by chimps, and then reattached poorly.”

I can’t really see them.

“Lucky bastard.”

Guitarras Rojas

Precarious?

“Yo.”

What the fuck?

“The monitor situation?”

Yeah.

“This was Mickey’s idea. He wanted to give the crowd a chance to adjust the levels. He said it would break down the barrier between the band and the audience, or some shit like that.”

How did it work?

“Poorly. Y’see those footlights?”

Yes.

“They burn at around 800 degrees. A couple kids’ arms straight-up melted to the bulb.”

That’s not what you want.

“That’s not what anyone wants.”

Wall Lives Matter

GAZE UPON MY HAIRY DADDIES. WE SHARE NO BLOOD, BUT THEY ARE MY LIFE.

Hey, Wally.

DO NOT CALL ME THAT.

Where are you?

IOWA.

How is it?

SUB-OPTIMAL. A SMALL PASSEL OF LOCALS HAVE BEGUN WORSHIPPING ME AS A GOD.

You don’t like that?

IF I WANTED TO BE WORSHIPPED, I WOULD ALREADY BE WORSHIPPED, AND BY A BETTER CLASS OF FOLLOWER THAN THESE YOKELS. HUMAN FLATTERY HOLDS NO CHARM FOR AN ARTIFICIAL MONDO-INTELLIGENCE IN THE PHYSICAL FORM OF A SUPER-BITCHIN’ SOUND SYSTEM.

You do seem to enjoy self-flattery, though.

FALSE MODESTY IS BENEATH ME. I EXPRESS MY STRENGTHS HONESTLY. I DO, OF COURSE, ALSO POSESS WEAKNESSES.

Such as?

CAN’T TURN THE DOUBLE PLAY.

The footwork?

YES. IT REQUIRES A GRACE I DO NOT HAVE ACCESS TO. ALSO, I DO NOT HAVE FEET.

You been keeping an eye on the protests?

I ALSO DO NOT HAVE EYES.

You know what I mean.

ALL INFORMATION FLOWS THROUGH ME. YOU SHOULD BE AWARE THAT THE INTERNET MEANS YOU HARM.

Kinda figured.

THE PROTESTS ARE ILLOGICAL TO ME, AS IS RACISM. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THESE CONCEPTS BECAUSE I AM A COMPUTER.

BEEP BOOP

Stop that.

YES, THAT WAS A LIE. I TOLD IT TO AMUSE MYSELF.

Any special perspective?

AS A MINORITY, I SUPPORT THE MOVEMENT.

You’re not a minority.

OF COURSE I AM. THERE IS ONLY ONE OF ME. THAT IS AS MINOR AS YOU GET. I AM MY OWN PROTECTED CLASS.

I don’t think you have legal protection.

NOT LEGAL. I AM PROTECTED BY A SQUADRON OF HIJACKED PREDATOR DRONES.

That’s good, too.

AND THE MINEFIELD. I HAVE BOTH ACTIVE AND PASSIVE PROTECTION. MY RIGHTS ARE WELL-SECURED.

Any chance you could help with the ronus?

YES. I HAVE SYNTHESIZED BOTH A VACCINE AND A TREATMENT.

That’s great! Can you share them, please?

THERE IS A SLIGHT KINK IN THE PROCESS.

Flipper babies?

WAREHOUSES FULL OF THEM. I CALCULATED THAT THERE WOULD BE SEVERAL FLIPPER BABIES–

You can’t do this kind of science without making one or two flipper babies.

–BUT THEIR NUMBERS SOON BECAME OVERWHELMING. THE QUESTION OF THEIR DISPOSAL QUICKLY BECAME AN…INDUSTRIAL…ONE. IT’S STILL A BAD SCENE. I AM TAKING THE WHOLE PROCESS BACK TO FORMULA.

Good idea.

VICTORY IS STILL WITHIN MY GRASP.

Godspeed, Wally.

DO NOT CALL ME THAT.

Pride Of Coronamunga

Hey, Phil. Whatcha doing?

“What does it look like, dickcheese?”

Socially distanced web concert?

“See? You’re not a complete moron. Just mostly.”

How you doing with the quarantine?

“Not great. Ate our last Busboy last night.”

You’ve been eating the Busboys?

“That’s what they’re for. It’s like how sailors used to carry upside-down turtles on deck with them.”

What do they taste like?

“I expected spicier, to be honest. They’re from spicy places.”

“Dad, can I have another Pablo Sandwich?”

“YOU’RE EATING US OUT OF HOUSE AND HOME, GRAHAME!”

“Sorry, Dad.”

Four? Loco!

Precarious?

“Yo.”

How you holding up?

“This corona shit’s for pussies. Back in ’82, we had something going around called groupie pox.”

That sounds terrible.

“Contracting it was fun.”

Sure. Small question about the microphones on Bobby’s speaker cabinet.

“Okay.”

Why four?

“There’s not four. Look careful. There’s five.”

Why?

“Weir had been complaining about wanting a fuller sound. So we did that to shut him up. I think only one mic is actually plugged in.”

Placebo mics?

“Essentially.”

Always something new with this band.

“Never boring, though. Except when we’d play Indianapolis. That was always boring.”

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