I’m Ready For My Close-Up Now, Mr. Kreutzmann

“Hey! Thoughts on my Ass!”

Hey, Billy.

“Camera’s set up! Get over here and take off my clothes.”

Wha?

“We’re shooting a porn, aren’t we? What’s the title, Grateful Head?”

We are in no way shooting a–

“Dark Starfish?”

–porno movie.

“Mississippi Hand-Job Yankmyshmoo?”

I don’t even know what that means. No porn. That’s your son behind the camera.

“Which one? Linoleum?”

You don’t have a son named Linoleum.

“Fartin’ Ted?”

Nor do you have a–

“Philsucks?”

–son named…are we just gonna do the same joke over and over?

“I’m in that kinda mood, to be honest.”

Stuck in a rut?

“Oh, yeah. I stick it in, and then I rut.”

I walked into that one. This interview is for Justin’s documentary about drummers. Aren’t you proud of him?

“Proud enough. Kid’s not a complete letdown, but he’s not living up to his potential. I didn’t want him to be a director.”

What did you want him to do?

“Bullfighter.”

Weird.

“We lived on a farm when he was a boy. I would sneak into his room at night and chuck goats at him.”

For God’s sake, why?

“Well, you don’t start off with a bull in bullfighting. Gotta work up to it. First, you fight reptiles and maybe an owl. Not one of those big fuckers, though. Little owl.”

This doesn’t sound right.

“Boy was gonna be a toreador. Y’know how much money I spent on tights and those fruity slippers?”

Since when were you a fan of bullfighting?

“Ah, I was really into Hemingway at the time.”

I didn’t know you enjoyed Ernest Hemingway.

“Not Ernest. Mariel. I was cranking two or three out a day to that chick, man. Tits and a pedigree? The Bill was tolling damn hard.”

Always good catching up.