How The West Was The Other One

When did your nose get that big?

“It’s the angle.”

If you say so. Talking to journalists again, Bobby?

“Well, the fellow had questions about mortality, and art, and bus customization. Felt it was impolite not to answer.”

Sure.

“And, you know, I’d never been in GQ before. I was on the cover of GB a while ago.”

GB?

“Guitarist’s Balls. I don’t know if it’s on the newsstands anymore. Hell of a masthead, though. Joan Didion wrote 10,000 words about Jimmy Page’s potato salad. And informative, too. You remember Leslie West?”

The guy from Mountain?

“Yeah. Astounding things going on with his balls.”

I don’t want to know the specifics.

“Good choice. They haunt my dreams.”

Right. Bobby, you need to stop recounting your dreams to reporters.

“Do I do that often?”

Literally every profile written of you in the past ten years contains a passage wherein you describe your dreams in detail.

“Hey, dreams are important. Imagine how boring sleep would be if you didn’t dream. It would be like taking a plane ride without a book.”

I don’t think that’s why we dream.

“That’s my explanation and I’m standing pat.”

Okay. Would you like to talk about the poncho?

“Serape.”

Whatever.

“I got it in Mexico. Well, a resort within Mexico, but technically that’s still Mexico. A small batch of communist rebels from Tarahumara ran it over from their village. They brought me this garment, along with greetings from Sub-Commandante Marcos.”

You know Sub-Commandante Marcos?

“Big fan.”

You of him, or him of you?

“Anyway, I tried on the poncho–”

Serape.

“–and was blown away. Checks off every box: comfort, durability, you can smother a fire with it. And, uh, storage capacity. I’ve got three bottles of pinot noir stashed in this sucker. Pockets within pockets, man.”

Sounds great.

“This is the kind of thing you can wear to a fancy restaurant, or the zoo, or a fancy zoo. Like, where all the animals are wearing bow-ties. You could wear this to the Oscars. They’d sit you right next to Jack Nicholson. This baby goes anywhere. It’s the Swiss army knife of Mexican blankets.”

I don’t know, Bobby.

“And, uh, I loved it. Lots of bliss in these folds. So I thought that maybe the fans would also love it, and so I told the merch guys–”

Slap a Stealie on it.

“–to slap a Stealie on it and see what the market would bear. I think we’ll sell a lot of ’em if we can keep Mickey from yoinking the stock.”

That’s a big ask.