
“Weir, this is the worst double-date we’ve ever been on.”
“I’m having fun, Jer.”
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

“Weir, this is the worst double-date we’ve ever been on.”
“I’m having fun, Jer.”
F(s)oTotD David Gans and Gary Lambert had Young John Mayer as a guest on their Tales from the Golden Road show on Sirius/XM; he stayed for the whole two hours and Bobby even called in from vacation. You can listen here, but if you don’t have the time, then here’s some of what we learned from YJM, with a guest appearance from OBW.

Garcia liked to bother fish.
He would wrestle wrasse and pester puffers.
Glued a tiny saddle to a seahorse.
Teased the brain coral.
Duped a grouper.
Garcia liked to bother fish.

The other Grateful Deads went out of their way to make Brent feel welcome, and like he wasn’t the new guy.
The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
Jesus made the flowers,
And he made the C4, too.
Jesus made the Grateful Dead,
Then He made Motley Crüe.
Christ, the Risen, made the sea,
And rocky, killing shores.
Then he filled the sky with planes,
With unlocked cockpit doors.
Jesus made the sunset red,
And melanoma brown.
Jesus made the flying fish,
Then children he let drown.
Christ, the Savior, gave us sleep,
And frantic nightmare’d night.
Filled our ears with laughing songs,
And filled our fists with fight.
Jesus made the flowers,
And the overturned school bus.
Jesus made the whole damn world,
And Jesus, he made us.

The pustules bloomed early that season, and the farmer had to hire extra scythes for the cull.
Foggy morning, and fog is just a cloud that couldn’t hack it; it tortured the scythes and turned them around and fed them panic by the spoonful. When the biggest one started to cry, the dirt turned on them. Roots wrapped round their ankles: spiky fenchurch, and leafy whistleweed, and hairy alabaga.
And when the sun had finished rising, there was no sound except the sallybugs called the faithful to prayer. The throated ivy eyed the farmhouse and the barn.
“Jer?”
“Yeah, Bob?”
“What did we take?”
…
“Drugs.”
“Ah.”

You love Easter.
“I do, yeah. Favorite holiday. Love the egg hunt.”
That a big thing at Casa Bobby?
“Oh, sure. Girls love it. Gotta use painted rocks instead of eggs cuz Lillian Monster will start protesting.”
Sounds right.
“Chocolate bunnies.”
Eh. Better in theory.
“Well, you’re getting normal-person chocolate bunnies. Rock star bunnies are solid.”
Chocolate all the way through?
“Yup.”
My God.
“Easter scotch.”
I don’t think that’s a thing.
“Oh, yeah. Sure it is. Jesus metaphor. The barley or rye or whatever the hell they make scotch out of dies, and then returns as a fine single-malt with an unpronounceable name.”
That makes as much sense as the actual story.
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![[PDF] What Are Yams Good For- -](http://thoughtsonthedead.com/wp-content/uploads/PDF-What-Are-Yams-Good-For--300x158.jpg)

![[PDF] What Are Yams Good For- -](http://thoughtsonthedead.com/wp-content/uploads/PDF-What-Are-Yams-Good-For--300x158.jpg)
Proud of yourself?
Inordinately.
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