- No, Mr. Owsley, you cannot examine the communication system.
- Billy just punched an usher in the dick.
- Someone go down to the Situation Room and let Keith out.
- I don’t know how he got in there in the first place, let alone lock himself in; just go get him.
- Then wake him up: just get him out of there!
- Carpet-cleaners to the Situation Room.
- Do you smell smoke?
- All the Grateful Deads need to stop calling the president “President Branford;” it’s just incredibly inappropriate.
- “President Oteil” is just as bad, Billy.
- Why is there 8 tons of gear in the Map Room?
- Whoever it was that ordered pizza: the delivery boy just ran off with the CIA Daily Briefing.
- No, Bobby: State Dinners aren’t when the president has ribs with all the governors.
- Billy just punched the social secretary in the dick.
- Flotus has asked for Pigpen to be kept away from her.
- You dosed the Secret Service? I dosed the Secret Service. Jesus, how many people dosed the Secret Service? We should go check on them.
- A burning smell; no one else smells that?
- Lenny Hart has stolen the nuclear football.
- Someone needs to tell Mickey taking his dick out under the Lyndon Johnson’s portrait while screaming, “EL BEEJAY!” at female passers-by is just not gonna work.
- Because besides it being the White House, it’s an office; you just can’t have drummers taking their dicks out.
- No, he can’t keep screaming if he puts his dick away; every part of what he’s doing is unacceptable.
- Billy just punched White House communications director C.J. Cregg in the dick.
- The road crew found the secret tunnels, and now they’re racing dirt-bikes.
- Why are there people selling burritos in the Rose Garden?
- Flotus has asked for John Mayer to be kept away from the First Daughters.
- How did Katy Perry get in here?
- Like the Treaty Room is on fire: I’m the only one who smells that?
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: Pigpen (Page 7 of 20)
Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?
“Shootin’ some shit, and drinkin’ some wine! And apparently volunteerin’!”
For what?
“Someone yelled out, ‘Who got them blues?’ and I raised my hand, and then this happened. I’m just goin’ with the flow!”
You’d be amazed how many guys have your facial hair now.
“The Pig is fashion forward! Look how awesome I look!”
You do. Where do you even get your clothes? Creepy Ernie’s hasn’t opened yet.
“Yoinked the shirt!”
Sure.
“The jacket…huh. Dunno. It’s mine, now! Sewed on the patches myself, that means it’s mine!”
Hat?
“Stole it!”
Watch?
“Vee gave it to me for my birthday! Tells good time.”
What kind of watch is it?
“Wrist!”
Only right answer.
Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?
“Bein’ a role model to man and beast alike!”
That dog seems to like you.
“He ain’t lovin’ the Pig! He lovin’ the ham!”
…
“I got me a samwich!”
Oh. Camera’s behind you.
“Which is why I done explained the situation! You thick as Boston molasses! Now: tell the Pig what’s goin’ on out there.”
You don’t want to know. Also: you’re in, what, 1967? There is quite literally no point of reference.
“Gettin’ bad?”
Weird, more like.
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“What the hell is that racket!?”
Check your pocket.
…
“What the hell is this contraption!?”
What does it look like?
“I got no frame of reference!”
Uh-huh. Just swipe the button.
…
“It’s very intuitive!”
Sure.
“You got the Pig on the line!”
“Please hold for Taylor Swift.”
“Who!?”
Oh, COME ON.
“Is this the Pigpen? Oh my God, I am SUCH a huge fan of yours, and your music, and your unreleased solo albums. Would you like to date?”
“What!?”
…
“All right, listen to me, you filthy urchin: my team has crunched the numbers and for some ungodly reason, being seen with you in public is the only thing that will shore up the breaches. I’M FUCKING DYING HERE. And you’re gonna help me, or it’s gonna be bad for you, you got that?”
“Who dis?”
“Taylor FUCKING Swift, you cocksucker! I am motherfucking WHITE GIRL JESUS and I have told you to JUMP, you shitty little mutant, and now you are gonna ask me, ‘HOW FUCKING HIGH UP YOUR ASS, Ms. Swift?’ and I will not have your family MURDERED BY HYENAS in front of you!”
“Well, whaddya look like?”
“Hold on. Sending a pic.”
“What!?”
DING!
“Well, ain’t that magic.”
…
“Heh. Yeah, no. Sorry, little girl: you are the opposite of my type! It ain’t gonna work!”
“WHAT? YOU CUMSTAINED PILE OF AIDS-SHIT! I’M GONNA–”
DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANYMORE
…
“I’m gonna chuck this gadget down the sewer and go get drunk!”
That’s the best decision anyone’s made today.
“They don’t call me the Pig for nothin’.”
What is that speaker propped up with?
“Gideon Bible we done stole from the motor lodge!”
Makes sense. When exactly did Precarious join your little circus?
“He was here when I got here!”
That makes less sense.
“And yet there’s a monitor bein’ held up by the Good Book!”
Can’t argue with the facts.
“Nah, but you can ignore ’em for a while!”
Can’t argue with that.
“Who’s that sexy tall thing singin’ my song!?”
What?
“Next Time You See Me! That’s a song the Pig done penned!”
You did not write that, Pig.
“But I made it mine!”
Sure.
“Now they got some sweet l’il filly warblin’ my tune!”
Um.
“Although just between you and the Pig, I dunno bout that lass! Haircut’s awful suspicious!”
Please stop being from the past.
“Like to climb that mountain.”
That’s a guy, Pig.
…
“Okay. Yeah. I see it now.”
His name’s John.
“Well, he should grow hisself some damn whiskers as to not confuse the public!”
I’ll tell him.
“And tell him he can keep singin’ Next Time! He didn’t fuck it up too bad, I guess.”
Wasn’t a train wreck.
“But if he gets his skinny l’il ladyfingers near Two Souls in Communion, he’s gettin’ a Pigtergeist!”
I will definitely tell him.
“Look at this here pup!”
He’s a cutie.
“She’s furry and won’t stop lickin’ me! Thinkin’ about marryin’ her!”
Oh, you.
“I’m just funnin’ ya. The ol’ Pig likes interracial love, not interspecies shenanigans! Dogs are for petting, not heavy petting!”
How did we get here?
“The hill?”
Forget it.
“Always a pleasure!”
It is.
“For you!”
Yeah.
“Where my rider at!?”
“Mr. Pigpen? Come on in. Have a seat.”
“I was using ‘schoolgirl’ euphemistically!”
“Sure. Why do you have liquor with you?”
“Case I get thirsty, white bread! You got the wrong man! You wanna talk to every other Grateful Dead but me!”
Hey, Bobby. What in God’s name are you doing?
“Looking spiffy.”
You look like the opera singer that Bugs Bunny got in a fight with.
“I’m beginning to get the feeling that a great deal of your worldview was shaped by cartoons.”
Just the good ones. So: what is this?
“Debutante ball. Daughter’s being presented to San Francisco society.”
…
That is the most gentile sentence I’ve ever heard.
“It is un-ethnic, yeah. Hey, uh: didn’t we play one of these things? My sister’s, right?”
Yeah.
“Phil had a Fender?”
Apparently.
“Don’t remember that. When was this?”
September of ’66.
“Huh.”
Yeah.
…
“If you start–”
SunRIIIIIIIIISE, sunset. SunRIIII–
“–singing we’re done. We’re done.”
Congratulations, Bobby. And to your wife, Natasha Monster.
“Thank you. Go away.”
Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?
“Don’t you ‘Hey, Pig’ me, punk! The Pig’s out here sweatin’ and frettin’, tryin’ to make it right for the boys and girls out there so they can MAKE IT, and you come around here, what, once a month? Say ‘Hey, Pig’ every four weeks?”
Aw, Pig.
“Wait! I know what you are now! You’re a period!”
Hey, man.
“Monthly menace! Get what you need and skedaddle back to that brokedown present o’ yours! That’s your game!”
Pig, that is not my game. I have no game.
“That’s what all the ladies say, too!”
Pig.
“Aw, the Pig’s just pulling your leg a li’l bit. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
You could visit, y’know. You have access to a Time Sheath. Brent’s here all the time. Had to chase Garcia out of Soldier Field at least twice.
“Nah. I’ve taken a look, and you done fucked up damn near everything! Fightin’ in the streets and hatred in the air!”
That was going on in your time, too.
“That’s what I’m sayin’! Supposed to get smarter, aintcha? World’s doin’ the exact same bullshit fifty years along! Enough to put a Pig in his cups!”
Well, it didn’t take too much to do that, did it?
“Heh, no. You know the ol’ Pig’ll take a drink.”
Yeah.
“Besides, ain’t no place for a bluesman no more. When’s the last time you saw one out in the wild?”
Been a while.
“Yeah.”
…
Pig?
“What now, you scribblin’ simp!?”
Why are you guys so blurry?
“Don’t be puttin’ that on the Pig! Your magic typewriter done goofed us all up!”
Yeah, could be.
Rareness abounds in this shot: Peanut makes an appearance, and the ultra-hyper-mega-super-rare tie-dyed Bobby.
Also: what the fuck? Please explain the greengrocer’s apostrophe. I don’t understand anything about what that is. (After the most minor of research, it seems that the opening act was called Michael and the Messenger’s [sic] and Pig was borrowing the organ. Which just brings up more questions. This was 3/21/71 at the Exposition Center in Milwaukee (only that partial AUD exists) and they had been on a mini-tour of the Midwest; did they not bring Pig’s organ? How did they break that to Pig when they were leaving for the airport? Did Pig threaten to hogtie anyone in retaliation?
And what the fuck to Michael, too. Was that sign printed seconds before the show, with no time to correct the mistake? Michael and the Messenger’s [sic] were a local Milwaukee band (I’m assuming) and back then a local band would play high school dances, and high school dances have chaperones: was not one of these chaperones an English teacher? Or any sort of teacher, really? Or a bright student? Or an average student?
I’d walk out. If I went to see your band and you fucked up the language that badly, I would lose faith in your ability to rock. Bands are allowed to spell their names wrong deliberately, or employ the superfluous umlaut, but they may not make errors in grammar or punctuation within their names. That’s a rule.
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