My What Big Skulls You Have, Grandma

“Thoughts on my Ass!”

Look at you all happy.

“New shirt. I love new shirts. It’s like taking your nipples on a first date.”

Sure. Whatcha doing?

“Ah, we got a week off, so I’m just hanging around Milwaukee.”

You stayed in Wisconsin?

“Hell, yeah. You gotta see the skank up here. I think it’s a byproduct of the cheese. Curds, whey, and skank. And the thighs, Ass! Solid. Solid like my cock.”

Ew.

“That’s what this skank is.”

We see what you’re doing.

“The thrill is still hot, hot, hot, hot.”

Wonderful.

“Farm girls up here. Norwegian stock. Sometimes they bundle me like hay. Just toss ol’ Uncle Billy around the room. Other times, I call down to room service for a milking stool and we play Dairy Farm. Hard-working skank, y’know?”

I never have any idea what the hell you’re talking about. Hey, did you read the new book about you guys post-Garcia?

“By that little shitfaced writer fuck?”

Yeah.

“Funniest book since Hitchhiker’s Guide. You read the part where I tried to choke Phil to death?”

I did.

“THAT’S funny. Not this shit you write. Ah, man, I nearly locked my fingers. I was so close.”

You two are in your 70’s.

“Old guys fighting is objectively funnier than young guys fighting.”

Okay, true, but still: the man has had several major medical issues and you leapt on him like a puma in an office full of people.

“You should’ve seen the lawyer’s face. He’d never gotten the Full Billy before.”

Uh-huh.

“Listen, Ass, that book proves what I’ve been saying for two fucking decades: it’s Phil’s fault.”

You literally just reminisced about strangling him.

“You read the book! He’s the asshole!”

You have physically assaulted the man on multiple occasions over the span of half-a-century! He has a right to dislike you!

“Ah, fuck him.”

Cogent argument.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Hold on. I’m waiting on a call from some skank who does lumberjacking competitions. She’s gonna do stuff to my log.”

Sure.

…

“Billy the K here to blow you away.”

“That’s a great greeting. Top-notch. Who are your writers? I could put them on the payroll and have them feed lines like that to me through my earpiece.”

“Who the fuck is this?”

“This is Johnny Depp.”

“Gotta be honest with you, Deppy: I’m a Grieco man.”

“I respect that. Art is about following your heart and your balls, not your brain. My people tell me you’re in Wisconsin. I own several homes there, and a recording studio in Green Bay. The music scene there is about to explode. Can I buy you a home in Wisconsin, Billy?”

“Yeah, sure. Go to it. Buy me whatever you wanna buy me.”

“Yes! See, that’s the truth I’m looking for! The real world, the common man.”

“Yeah, I’m common as shit.”

“Exactly! You’re not afraid to tell me the truth because you’re not on my payroll.”

“Oh, is that an option? I wanna be on your payroll.”

“Done.”

“And a Producer credit on your next picture.”

“Associate Producer is best I can do.”

“I’ll walk away, Depp. I will walk away from this deal.”

“Fine! Associate Producer plus Story.”

“Done.”

“Let me ask you two questions: do you have any Hunter Thompson stories, and are you a fan of wine?”

“Let me give you one answer: yes.”

“Billy, I think this is great. Everything about what we’ve got going here.”

“Yeah, I’m the shit.”

“Now let me ask you one final question.”

“You can totally replace Josh in Dead & Company. You got my vote.”

“How would you feel about me…oh, you just anticipated where I was going. Huh.”

“I’m good with it. We’ve ridden that pretty pony into the ground. Crowds are getting smaller. Time to shoot some new juice in our dicks.”

“Yes! You see, I was listening to Spotify the other day and the Dead came on and I really started listening to the band for the first–”

“HEP! Hep hep hep hep! I don’t care about your Golden Road to Damascus moment. Let’s talk about that payroll thing. Do you do direct deposit?”

“I would assume so.”

“What about bags of cash?”

“That can be arranged.”

“Oh, this is gonna be fun.”