Thoughts On The Dead

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

There Are No Conscientious Observors In Rando War

Hey, Parish. Rando War?

“Fuck, yeah. Gonna smoke this joint, take a piss, and break this fucker’s arm.”


“Prostate’s the size of a volleyball. I go every 20 minutes.”

Not the pissing. Why are you gonna break the rando’s arm?

“Old time’s sake. I don’t get to hit anyone anymore.”

Y’know, you’re overstating the Dead crew’s violence just a bit. You guys weren’t Led Zeppelin.

“Nah, shit no. We weren’t just goons. We didn’t hit people for no reason.”


“It’s just that people were always giving us reasons to hit them.”

Well, this rando hasn’t.

“Give him a minute.”

Please don’t hurt randos, Parish.

“It’s a Rando War. Gonna be some deaths.”


“Injuries, injuries.”

“Not true, love. There have been and always will be a great deal of mortality in Rando War, innit? Nature of the gimmick, right?”

Oh, I know that accent.

“‘Ello, love.”

What is happening here, Sam Cutler?

“Oi am making Rando Love, not Rando War.”

None of this makes sense.

“Also, Oi just dosed you. Ta.”


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