Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Sorry for the disappearing act: I didn’t feel like making jokes, especially not about Billy punching dicks. Tawdry and insignificant, in the face of it.
But time goes on, so more goofy wackiness to come. PLUS the continuation of the Spring ’78 tour run-through! AND special guest blogger Elvis Presley!
USE MAH ROYAL TITLE, MONKEY.
Umm…His Man-jesty, the Most Hung and Holy Fourth Degree Black Belt, Tushee Monster Extraordinaire, Elvis Presley.
FUCKIN’ A.
AH HEAR YURR LOOKIN FURR A NEW WRITER FOR THIS HURR NEWSPAPER.
Aw, man: you just made the spell-check kill itself.
DIRTY SOUTH! SKRILLEX!
Those two things are not related except for tangentially at best.
YEAH! KING! YEAH! ELVIS KING!
You’re not listening. This is a job with the Grateful Dead. I’ve heard there have been incidents.
MORE LIKE A NON-INCIDENT, HEH-HEH-HEH.
Why are you laugh–
HAIRY GARCIA WONT KARATE WITH ME, EVEN THOUGH I TOLD HIM TO!
That actually seems to be the precise way to get him to not do something. Maybe if you–
AH’M AUDITIONING NOW
—Great.
THE GRATEFUL DEAD WAS JUST SOME CHOOGLY-TYPE JAM BAND WITH NO DISCIPLINE INSTILLED IN THEM BY THE STUFFÂ NECESSARY TO BECOME A BLUE BELT IN PRES-LEE-DO, WHICH IS A MARTIAL ART I MADE UP. THE FACT THAT EVEN I, ITS CREATOR, HAVE NOT MASTERED IT SHOULD SHOW ITS FIENDISH DIFFICULTY. AH AM HALFWAY THROUGH ‘KICKING.’
That’s gonna be all I need to hear.
SO ELVIS HAS THE GIG?
Sure: we start at 8:00 AM.
ELVIS PASSES.
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