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

Author: Thoughts On The Dead (Page 126 of 1031)

The Real Dead Commandments

Mickey–otherwise known as Grandpa Shitposter–threw this nonsense up on his Twitter today, and there are no words.

First off: ten. There are ten Commandments. They made a movie about them. It was called The Ten Commandments. The number of commandments is not a secret. All humans know this fact. There are three Stooges, five Golden Rings, and ten Commandments. Mickey, however, includes twelve. Perhaps this is due to inflation. Maybe the last two are bonus tracks. I don’t know, but it’s wrong.

Second: only nine of the Dead Commandments are actually commandments. IV and V are merely descriptions, while IX is a suggestion. A command can’t start with the word “if,” unless you’re programming a Commodore 64 using BASIC.

Third: these are not the Dead Commandments.

I. Thou shalt choogle.
II. Rehearsing is for heathens, miscreants, and Journey.
III. Thou must not openly speak of the fans with contempt, but you can rip into ’em once you’re amongst friends.
IV. The Hells Angels must be allowed backstage.
V. All Grateful Deads are equal in the eyes of THE LORD, but Garcia gets first crack at the catering table.
VI. All Grateful Deads are equal in the eyes of THE LORD, but Bobby gets first pick in the Hostility Suite.
VII. No one’s allowed to hire an oboe player anymore, not after what happened last time.
IX. Keep your hands off each others’ wives, you fuckwits.
X. Thou must only regularly play three Chuck Berry songs, even though Chuck Berry songs are all the same, dead-simple, and quite easy to learn.
XI. Anyone who wants to be on the payroll may be on the payroll.
XII. Nobody is allowed to call Mickey “Icky Fart” anymore; it’s starting to really upset him.

Big Love: The Lost Season

“Hey, Jer.”

“Yeah, Bob?”

“Given any thought to my idea?”

“Yeah. Lotta thought. And it’s a no. You can’t change your name to Bobby W.”

“Sheila does it.”

“Well, man, I hate to bring up bridges and jumping off them, but the situation does call for it.”

“I gotta do something here, Jer. Can I confide in you, Big Guy?”

“We’ve talked about that nickname and my feelings towards it.”

“It’s just that I’m used to being the good-looking one in the group.”

“Huey’s jawline and baby-blues making you anxious, man?”

“Well, yeah.  I mean: he’s the Bobby of this photo. And that’s weird for me, cuz usually I’m the Bobby.”

“The man ain’t ugly.”

“And if we’re being completely honest: I’m also usually the best athlete in the group. Sure, that’s not tough cuz the group I’m referring to is the Grateful Dead, and I don’t have to tell you that our band is full of spazzes.”

“Not an athletically-inclined combo.”

“But here I am with Joe Montana. And it turns out that Huey used to play minor-league baseball. So, I’m third-best at best.”

“Well, hey, man: I’m fifth. Don’t be bitching about your troubles to me.”

“I’m not even the best guitarist here!”

“Weir?”

“What?”

“Look at me, buddy.”

“What?”

“You have the best hair here.”

“I’ve been using a new leave-in conditioner.”

“You can tell.”

“There’s a gloss that wasn’t previously evident.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks, Big Guy.”

“Not gonna warn you again about that shit, man.”

Fuck Equifax

And the other two credit reporting companies, which I think are called Yoyodyne and Weyland-Yeutani. But fuck Equifax in particular, and in an orifice not of Equifax’s choosing, because they apparently use the honor system as security on their databases. Baddies stole all your info, Enthusiasts! Was it the ChiComs? The St. Petersburg-based Internet Research Agency? What about Barron? I heard Barron was good with the cyber, so maybe Barron Trump now has all your personal information and is using it to catfish Rebel Wilson. (Barron likes his ladies large and not funny.)

Shockingly enough, a federal agency is still staffed and pursuing its mission: the Federal Trade Commission slapped Equifax with an enormous class action suit on behalf of 150 million people the business fucked; the suit was settled, and if you were included in the breach–the odds of which are roughly 50%–you’re entitled to one hundred and twenty-five American dollars. SECURE YOUR BAG. Get that money, ho.

(For those of you wary of giving Equifax your private information: THEY ALREADY HAD IT. That’s what started this whole mess. It takes less than a minute; the only way to make money faster than that is to be a sex worker who exclusively caters to premature ejaculators. GO GET YOUR FUCKING MONEY.)

I will expect a Finder’s Free of ten percent from each of you.

Woodstock 50©®™: A Timeline

Dead & Company, the perennial jam band mainstays whose members helped solidify and define the 1960s rock scene with their performance at the original Woodstock, are the latest casualties of organizers’ decision to try and stage the festival at Maryland’s Merriweather Post Pavilion next month.- “Dead & Company Drop Out Of Woodstock 50” – Rolling Stone

Dead & Company’s cancellation comes as little surprise to anyone following the travails of Woodstock 50©®™ (Brought  to you by Caliburn International) over this past year. The festival cannot be called a trainwreck, as no one involved is even remotely competent enough to be trusted with machinery as heavy as a train; also, tranwrecks come as a surprise. No one saw that coming, is often the refrain after two locomotives collide, except for that time some huckster bought two engines and charged the local rubes two bits to watch him crash ’em into each other, except the stands weren’t far back enough and two people died. (That’s a true story.)

In an effort to keep you, the loyal Enthusiast, abreast of all of the important music industry news of the day, TotD now presents the Official Timeline of Woodstock 50©®™:

January 10, 2019 Michael Lang, one of the co-creators of the original Woodstock, the one with the curly hair who looked like a muscular angel in his vest–announces that a 50th anniversary festival would be held in August of 2019. When asked where the three-day event would take place, Lang fakes a sneezing fit and runs from the room.

January 11, 2019 Michael Lang calls all of the journalists to tell them he meant to say Watkins Glen, and that everything was going well,  and that the bands were just about to be announced.

March 11, 2019 Michael Lang and the festival’s production company, Superfly, re-announce that they will announce the bands any minute now.

March 11, 2019 (Later that day) A new investor, Russian oligarch Oleg Deripskaya, signs on.

March 11, 2019 (Just after the Oleg thing) Deposits are wired into the accounts of Jay-Z, The Killers, Fogerty, Miley Cyrus, Dead & Company, etc.

March 11, 2019 (Just after the wire transfers are confirmed.) Jay-Z, The Killers, Fogerty, Miley Cyrus, Dead & Company, etc. post on their social media pages about how excited they are to be playing at Woodstock 50©®™, and how it was gonna be special, and all that.

March 22, 2019 Everyone sues everyone. Michael Lang sues Superfly, Superfly gets sued by Mario van Peebles, a shadowy Japanese corporation called the Dentsu Aegis Network slaps an injunction on the Ghost of Jimi Hendrix’ Headband. Judges cream their robes at the thought of being able to cram some Beatles lyrics into an opinion. All the paralegals dust off their boogie shoes, even the paraplegic paralegals.

April 2, 2019 The Black Keys back out of the festival, citing “scheduling difficulties.”

April 3, 2019 Dentsu Aegis Network dispatches ninjas to murder The Black Keys,

April 4, 2019 The ninjas are repelled handily by The Black Keys, who–and I would not have imagined this to be the case–are Batman-level martial artists.

April 5, 2019 Dentsu Aegis Network summons Dulok the Gnasher from the Cage With No Bars.

April 6, 2019 The Black Keys blow town. Ninjas are one thing, but Dulok the Gnasher is a helium-level threat and nunchucks are of no use against him. Dentsu Aegis Network neglects to recite any binding chants or cast a banishing spell, so Dulok is still in our reality. Check your hamper. He likes to hide in hampers.

April 19, 2019 The town of Watkins Glen issues a fatwa against Michaal Lang and, for some reason, the suriving members of Sha Na Na. Notified by the county’s lawyers that Islamic religious edicts were outside of their purview, the five-member town council issues a fatwa against the lawyers.

May 1, 2019 Superfly Productions pulls out, citing “general incompetence,” a “lack of time,” and they “just couldn’t look at Michael Lang’s fucking haircut anymore.”

May 8, 2019 42nd anniversary of Cornell.

May 9, 2019 Michael Lang is arrested in Pompano Beach, Florida, for stripping nude and communicating with the godhead at a Steak & Shake.

May 17, 2019 President Trump pardons Michael Lang.

May 29, 2019 Dentsu Aegis Network, Superfly, and Michael Lang meet in court, but–surprise–the judge has been gnashed by Dulok. All motions are tabled until the next day.

May 30, 2019 Nope, the demon is still in the courthouse.

June 4, 2019 Concerned citizens of Watkins Glen and the surrounding towns take their own children hostage, put guns to their heads, and threaten to pull the triggers if Woodstock 50©®™ takes place at the Speedway.

June 15, 2019 Positive news about the festival: it WILL happen. Also, they finally got Dulok off the bench and the new judge said that Dentsu and Superfly could take their money back, so there’s no money and no permit, but Jay-Z is still confirmed.

June 16, 2019 Jay-Z cancels. Michael Lang is re-arrested at the Steak & Shake, and re-pardoned that night.

June 23, 2019 New investors are found. When pressed on the identities of these investors, Michael Lang faked another sneezing attack and hung up the phone; reporters later received a call from a man who called himself “Rudy” and told them to “stop asking so many fucking questions.”

July 1, 2019 Woodstock 50©®™ applies for a location permit right outside of Vernon, New York. Citizens of Vernon immediately burn the town to the ground, and then sour the land with the blood of their young. The locals become a wandering and heartless mob, savage with grief, and they lay waste to Oneida County. Utica dies screaming.

July 5, 2019 Santana’s manager calls to cancel, and Michael Lang–like one of the agents in The Matrix–transports himself via the phone lines to Santana’s manager’s office, and straight-up kills the fucker. It’s amazing how many people have to die for a rockyroll festival.

July 11, 2019 Caliburn International signs on as sponsor, also takes over construction of temporary housing.

July 13, 2019 A scout from Woodstock 50©®™ is reported to be in downtown Monticello, New York. The mayor sets off a low-yield nuclear device upon hearing the news, rendering the area uninhabitable for 50,000 years.

July 20, 2019 Steak & Shake again.

July 21, 2019 On a dare from Camden Yards, Merriweather Post Pavilion agrees to host the festival, which is still slated for three days even though it’s only got around one day’s worth of acts left.

July 22, 2019 About eight more hours worth of pop stars cancel, but James Dolan’s band, JD & the Straight Shots, are still booked.

July 23, 2019 James Dolan is gnashed by Dulok; the Straight Shots pull out.

July 26, 2019 Billy realizes he isn’t getting a check, and Dead & Company cancel.

Tomorrow, 2019 Who can foretell the future?

Fuck Mountains

I had to watch this and piss myself, and now so do you. There aren’t enough Fuck thats in all of creation for this bullshit.

ALSO: Whoever named Mont Blanc literally could not have put in less effort. Maybe if he called it Mont Grand, but that’s it. (I am assuming the namer of Mont Blanc was a man because we both know women weren’t allowed to do shit like that back then. Hell, the people who actually lived on and around the mountain weren’t even allowed to name the suckers.)

ALSO ALSO: I think you could ski down the right slope. You would have to be a good skier, though. If you’re still making pizza slices with your skis, then you might not make it in one piece. Worrying, too, is the fact that the snow only goes a couple thousand feet and then instantly becomes a semi-vertical field of granite. Maybe you could do some sort of rocket-assisted LEAP away from the cliff and WUH-PAMP reveal your wingsuit, and glide lithely to the nearest chic bistro for some vin du table and casual sex.

ALSO ALSO ALSO: If I were God, I’d flick these fuckers off that ridge with My mighty finger, just for making Me nervous.

Rest In Peace, Brent

You were the greatest or second-greatest keyboardist the Dead ever had. (Third if we’re counting Jeff Chimenti.) We’ll miss you forever, Brent.

You’re an asshole.

Pardon?

That is two-time National Security Advisor Brent Scowcroft, who is not dead and was never in the Grateful Dead.

That’s on me. I see it now. My problem is that I can’t tell Brents apart because I’m not a racist like you.

Uh-huh.

Seriously. Everyone knows I don’t have a racist bone in my body.

“Wrong, Jewboy.”

Was that you?

No.

Who was it?

“Down here.”

“When you said that you didn’t have a racist bone in your body, you were a little bit off. You have one racist bone in your body, and it’s me. I’m your left femur.”

This is so fucking stupid that I’m gonna kill myself.

SWALLOWING A BOTTLE FULL OF PILLS NOISE

TEN MINUTES GOING BY NOISE

ASPIRATING VOMIT AND THEN CHOKING TO DEATH NOISE

I didn’t think he had it in him.

“Fuck him. He looked Irish, anyway.”

Could you please stop being racist?

“Absolutely not. I connect the hip bone to the knee bone, and I preach the tenets of White Supremacy. That’s what I do; it’s why I’m here.”

Ah, this blows.

“Hey, you got 205 bones that are degenerates like you. Don’t oppress me. I’m a minority.”

I will not play your word games.

“How about sodoku? You people are good with numbers.”

We’re done.

“I’m gonna try to make you kick a Guatemalan.”

Italics Guy was right. This universe is so fucking stupid.

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