It’s not that bad. Think of your pandemic ancestors. Those poor fuckers couldn’t get all beered up and blast Guns N’ Roses, not even a little bit.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Author: Thoughts On The Dead (Page 55 of 1031)
Presented drunkenly, and without comment.
- Whereas previously, keyboardists had to be content with sticking a microphone under the hood of their Steinways, Keith Godchaux had the first custom-built piano pickup.
- Many members of the band, and all of the road crew, have considered Batmanning.
- Pigpen’s tune Mr. Charlie is actually about Charlie Miller.
- Ironically, Front Street was used as a front by several major narcotics smugglers.
- The Yanomami people are unfamiliar with not only the Dead, but also the very concept of jamming.
- Billy once pissed for three minutes straight after drinking a six-pack of Schlitz.
- Billy also thought it was 1988 for the entirety of 1989.
- Tom Constanten was actually several dozen owls working in concert and wearing a fake mustache.
- Despite often wearing a shirt that read “Kill the Grateful Dead,” Kurt Cobain was conceived in the bathroom of the 7/16/67 show at Eagle’s Auditorium in Seattle.
- One time, Mickey didn’t want to play Cumberland Blues, so he called it Dumberland Snooze, and Bobby took a poke at him.
- “Grateful Dead” is in no way an anagram of “Peter North’s mighty sex-hammer.”
What the fuck is this?
Dude, I’ve warned you about this. Next time you interrupt me when I’m in the Bullet Points, you’re getting your dick punched.
I don’t believe your threats. Again: What the fuck is this?
Well, I noticed that even though this site advertises itself as being about the Grateful Dead, there has been little-to-no Grateful Dead content in weeks, if not months.
And so you decided to rectify that with…this?
Yes.
Drinking again?
Yes.
Pathetic.
Yes.
Greetings, you filthy boogermonster. If you’re here, then you must be one of the growing faction of Americans who have given up hope of ever living in a society again, and forsaken your daily wash-up. Good for you! Unlike those rose-colored sunglass-wearing assholes insisting that life will get back to normal, you know instinctively that you’re gonna die soon, drowning in your own mucus in a hospital tent hurriedly erected in the parking lot of a basketball arena, or quickly thereafter in the Mad Maxian hellscape that will arise when the economy craters for good. I admire your self-honesty, friend. Come! Let’s befoul our Personal Health Radii together!
THE “S” IN “NASA” STANDS FOR STINK The Gemini missions came after the Mercury launches, and they were America’s first dual-manned spaceflights. The series of missions were primarily for testing: docking two craft together, and extra-vehicular activities, and all that technical space shit. But Gemini 7’s objective was far more primal: Could two astronauts survive for two weeks in space without contracting filth-based diseases and/or killing each other? What the men discovered was that the human body can only get so dirty. One acquires, rather quickly, a sort-of protective layer of grimy sweat that repels further funk, and the astronauts reported that the stank got no worse after the third or fourth day. As to the second question regarding killing each other, it was determined that yes two men could perform professionally in such a confined spot, but you needed to pick the right men. You couldn’t send, like, Flavor Flav and Joe Exotic.
ATTENTION MUST BE PAID Just because you’re not fully laundering your butthole doesn’t mean you can entirely ignore the area. Complete non-ablution of one’s hungry maw will lead to one’s buttcheeks gluing themselves together using dooky as mortar. Don’t let that happen; it’s how General MacArthur died.
STILL GOTTA WASH YOUR HANDS There’s a pandemic on, muchacho. Don’t be a prick.
THE OL’ TOOTHBRUSH-UP-THE-WAZOO TRICK, EH? Just because you’re no longer using your toothbrush does not mean you can send it to a friend or relative as a gift, then follow up with Polaroids of said toothbrush stuck up your ass. You may also not send anyone a box of donuts followed by snapshots of the donuts hanging from your cock. I’m pretty sure both of those are felonies now.
DOGGY DADDY! At least once an hour–more often if you’re not alone–you must sniff your own pits and let loose a glorious sound proclaiming your own stanky rankness. You may use such phrases as:
- You can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you, Mr. Armpits!
- Smells like victory!
- Gimme the beat, boys, and free my soul!
- But that I could live inside my own funk like a piston in Moloch’s infernal engine!
- I slough off the Underwear of God!
- ROOOOONUS! Come out and PLAAAAAAA-YAY!
And so on.
SHIT OFF THE BALCONY You’ve always wanted to. Do it. Go hang your ass over the railing and set that turd free. Do it, you pussy.
I’m gonna put an end to whatever this is now.
Good call. Was it the “shitting off the balcony” thing?
That was part of it. The whole post is a mess, but nothing good can come from giving out that kind of advice.
Hey, if people listen to me, it’s on them.
I have no idea what this is, but I love it and believe it deserves to be cranked up. I think “Rey & Kjavik” is one German dude. This is what the artist’s website says in the ABOUT section…
Rey&Kjavik has a preference for mystical and spiritual soundscapes in an electronic music context. His debut album, Rkadash, released in 2017, emphasized the artist’s state of mind and transfered the creativity of this significant chapter in his life to the dancefloor. But in the same pace as time moves on people do as well, hence the producer has spent and wisely used the past couple of months to come to terms with transforming his newly gained impressions resulting in his second studio album, Mountiri that will be released in december 2018 on his own label RKJVK. Musically the artist stayed true to himself and yet created an advanced spiritual and mystical piece of art that highlights his versatility by drawing on oriental vibes and desertic rhythms. With his second album Rey&Kjavik crosses the frontiers of a visible reality being turned into an auditory experience and to become one in the musically experienced moment.*
…and I actually know less now than before I read that.
*All of that is [sic], obviously.
THE COURTYARD OUTSIDE PONTIUS PILATE’S HOUSE – 33 AD
“Hear me, Jews! I speak for the glory that is Rome! Hear me!”
…
“Wouldja shut the fuck up!? Christ, you people chatter!”
“Potchen mein tuchas, du mieskeit!”
“Hey, this is your tradition! I’ll go inside and read the new Harlanus Cobanus codex or something. I don’t care, man.”
CROWD QUIETING DOWN NOISE
“Thank you. Each year on the eve of your weird, silly little dinner-based holiday Passover, Rome shows her love by allowing you, the Jews, to pick a prisoner to be released and not crucified. That’s right: the nicest thing Rome can do for you is not crucify you. Think about what would happen if we didn’t like you. Just ask the Carthaginians about that. Oh, wait: you can’t. We genocided them. Anyhoo, we’ve got two choices for you this year: Jesus Christ and Barabbas Feinstock. Come on out here, guys.”
PRISONERS BEING DRAGGED ONTO STAGE NOISE
“So, uh, Jesus is accused of crimes against the state, witchcraft, blasphemy against the official gods, and general trouble-causing. Barabbas here is accused of–”
MAN ROLLING OUT A SCROLL TO A COMICALLY-LARGE LENGTH NOISE
“–Peter, Paul, and Mary! Look at all this crime! Murder, theft, assault, rape, kidnapping, rape, arson, rape, rape, counterfeiting, rape, rape, rape…most of the list seems to be rape. The sheer quantity of rape is astounding. If it were any activity other than rape, you’d congratulate the man on his hustle. And there’s weird stuff here, too. Bank robbery? We haven’t even invented banks yet. And who the Hades is Carole Baskin, and why does Barabbas keep hiring people to kill her? This is simply the worst criminal record I’ve ever seen. Just a mess. Okay, let’s vote. Who says I should let Jesus go?”
CROWD NOT MAKING ANY NOISE NOISE
“Huh. And who thinks I should free Barabbas?
CROWD MAKING A LOT OF NOISE NOISE
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, really? You want Barabbas released? Why?”
CROWD MAKING ALL SORTS OF DIFFERENT NOISES NOISE
“No, no, no. You can’t all talk at once. It’s bad enough when you do it one at a time. You! Why do you choose Barabbas over Jesus?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. What’s your name?”
“Shushy Guschel.”
…
“Y’know, I’ve lived with you people for almost ten years, and I’m still not used to your names. Shushy, why Barabbas?”
“He’s a straight shooter. Jesus over there? Always with the parables. Can’t understand a goddamned word the man’s saying. First he told me I was a fishing net, and then I was a pearl, and then a mustard seed. It’s exhausting. Barabbas, though? He says what he means.”
“Can you give me an example?”
“Well, last month he wanted to steal my money. He walked right up to me and said, ‘Gimme your money.’ Jesus wouldn’t have done that. He would’ve given me a half-hour lecture about how my wallet was an unplowed field and he was the rain or some horseshit like that.”
“But Jesus wouldn’t have stolen your money.”
“Still, the lectures.”
“Wow. Okay, new guy. Uhh…you there with the sandwich.”
“Ask someone else; I’m eating a sandwich.”
“Put it down for a second.”
“Man, it’s sandwich time.”
“PUT IT DOWN!”
“Fuckin’ Romans.”
“Heard that. What’s your name?”
“Flukey Knucklebaum.”
“Why did you cheer for Barabbas? He’s the worst.”
“True, true. Bad hombre. Has raped my entire family, both separately and once all at the same time. I hate that son of a bitch something fierce.”
“But?”
“But I own a chain of liquor stores and Jesus’ water-into-wine trick is just not acceptable.”
“You gotta be shitting me.”
“And I speak for the fishermen and the bakers as well! You know how much food it takes to feed the multitudes? Lot more than three tilapias and two baguettes, I’ll tell you that. Lotta hard-working businessmen got screwed royal that day!”
“I’m astonished by you people. I’m asking someone else. A lady this time. Ma’am, you in the hat. What’s your name?”
“Bella Abzug.”
“That’s a weird coincidence.”
“It’s not a coincidence. I am the actual Bella Abzug.”
“That would explain the hat. Why did you pick Barabbas over Jesus?”
“Jesus and his friends are nogoodniks. They hang out on the corner all day hassling decent people and singing that filthy doo-wop music. The Apostles. What kind of thing is that to call yourself? Are they a gang?”
“I wouldn’t classify them as a gang.”
“And that cheap little Mary girl who hangs around with them? She’s a hoo-er.”
“The historicity of that claim is widely doubted by contemporary scholars.”
“She’s a hoo-er!
“Fine! Fine, whatever. Y’know what? Whatever. You’re making the wrong choice, but that’s not for me to say. I mean, you folks are making a ‘Ryan Leaf over Peyton Manning’ type bad decision here, but it’s your call. Free Barabbas!”
BARABBAS BEING UNSHACKLED ONLY TO IMMEDIATELY BEGIN RAPING HIS GUARDS NOISE
“See? He’s already raping! He’s…ah, fuck it, I don’t care.”
If you got the blues, that’s fine. Get drunk. Hide under the bed. Chop your own head off. Be yourself until they come for you.
I’m still fucked up over Adam Schlesinger’s death.
The plague birds are not social distancing;
I don’t think they’ve listened to the CDC at all.
For fuck’s sake, they’re flocking together.
Someone call the authorities;
Someone levy fines.
People who know about birds call ’em ibises.
I don’t nothing about anything,
Especially birds:
Little loud ones;
Patriotic ones;
Colorful ones.
Some taste good fried.
Not a lot of meat on a plague bird.
Mostly beak.
I’ll make you a deal,
Plague bird:
Your wings for my brain.
I’ll fly over Target
And the orthodontist’s office;
The shuttered diner, too.
You sit here and think
About Medicare fraud
And the infield fly rule
And whether Toscanini was hung.
You find a better offer, you take it.
SAN SOUCI
Garcia
Most of his wives
Parish
John Kahn
Rock Scully
RUCKA RUCKA RANCH
Mickey
Around a dozen foreigners playing drums
Several horses on acid
The ghost of Bill Graham
TERRAPIN CROSSROADS
Phil
Jill
Graham
The Busboys
Ross James
BOBBY’S A-FRAME
Bobby
His wife, Natasha Monster
Monet and all of her Instagram simps.
Bobby’s long-time stalker, Helvetica Dropfoot.
Matt Busch
Many dogs
BILLY’S MALIBU PLACE
Billy
Benjy Eisen
Justin
Assorted skank
Delivery guy Billy took a shine to and kidnapped
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