It being the ’60’s, and cops being cops, they thought handcuffing Pig to a black chick was punishment.
Joke was on them.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Month: October 2013 (Page 13 of 15)
Posting may be a bit light for a few days, as toothaches only show up on Friday nights, don’t they?
Cuz at this moment, I need one of three things: a licensed dentist, an unlicensed pharmacist, or an ice skate blade.
You could admire Phil for his commitment to giving an idea an honest try, but bringing back Opposite Day was pushing it.
Two Inches. Phil’s signature is two inches long.
This is fun right up until two minutes left when you start taking it personally and start consider cheating, but holy shit, I gotta beat this thing aaaaaaand BOOM with 16 seconds left!
A bad showing, but with my medical and pharmacological history, any memory besides ‘Don’t touch the hot, orange, crackly stuff” is a shock.
Trust me on this one and enlarge this picture and MARVEL IN WONDER at Bobby’s muscular thighs bursting the fuck out of those jorts.
Also, and I swear this will be the last time for this, do Phil got a booty? He do!
Looking back on yesterday’s lies, ideas verging on coherence, and shaky punctuation, I see that I couched one of my posts as an “open letter”. Notwithstanding the fact that it quickly degenerated into ill-conceived rantings about the penis sizes of a group of men (and Mrs. Donna Jean) who are now in their third decade of getting that AARP newsletter. Or, you know: long-dead.
Anyway, I was unaware of the whole open letter thing with the young naked person and the old crazy person until Amanda Palmer tried to make herself a part of it and cruelly denied by the entire internet.
What I’m saying is that I wasn’t trying to hop on the open letter bandwagon. I am, however, now jumping on the open letter bandwagon:
An Open Letter to the Grateful Dead:
Somebody wake up Keith, please. Thank you.
Hi, guys. Guys (and Mrs. Donna Jean)? Could you take your seats? Keyboardists, please don’t sit next to each other: touching might violate space-time protocols and then that whimsical British turd’ll come bursting in riding that stupid phone booth with his new attractive (for an English girl) sidekick and nobody needs that shit again.
Frankly, we’re going to need you all to let yourselves be pimped far, far more than now. As of now, there is no pimping. There is so little pimping that this is what you showed up to a photo shoot looking like:
Billy, look at you. It looks like everyone slept in your clothes. Jesus, guys (not Mrs. Donna Jean), you gotta stop wearing whatever was last given to you for free. It just doesn;t add up to a look for the band. And then there’s this:
WHAT THE FUCK IS T-SHIRT TUESDAY?
(to be continued…)
“Lesh. Phil Lesh.”
Forget about the rando who looks like john Lurie’s dissolute brother: this one’s all about the Phil.
He’s rocking the stubble and the classic 3/4 sleeve ringer, the wristband’s for business and the Heineken’s for fun, and do he got a Casio digital watch? He do!
There are no words for this 10/3/76 Cobo Hall second set; I’m not even going to try. I’m certainly not going to give any credit to Mr Completely for mentioning it, nor to Billy_Bongs (whose name I would goof on were it not for the fact that I think I’d really enjoy spending the afternoon at Billy fucking Bongs’ place, so he gets an official Silly Internet Pass from TotD) , who is from Reddit, which is a website that is masculine and hyper-fucking-aware of it. The Dead sub is a fun place to keep up on stuff and where I am not allowed to be a moderator due to my becoming drunk with the smallest amount of power a human can wield when I was made a moderator and everyone calling me a dick.
Every day, Billy_Bongs gathers up links to the shows that were played on that day and highlights one: it’s a rather nice thing to do; today’s was this one and I’ll leave you with this: China Cat tease in the NFA, which is in a bitchin’ Detroit Disco Dancin’ sandwich. Eat my tasty sandwich. Click on it: taste what I made for you.
Stop it.
I need some fresh air, but mostly I need to stop talking about this show and listen to it. Just listen.
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