Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

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Jerry Christmas

IMG_2895“HO HO HO! Merry Christmas, young man! And what would you like from Santa this year?”

“How are you with missing limbs, man?”

“Um. Not great?”

“Yeah, sure, figured.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, you know: I guess that kinda depends. You cool, man?”

“What?”

“Break out that reindeer dust, man.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I catch your game, man. Okay, okay.”

“Is there some sort of normal present I can bring you? Something a human boy would ask for?”

“Sure, sure, sure. I could always use a guitar, I guess.”

“I can do a guitar. I’ll have the elves knock one out.”

“Yeah, you know what? ‘Having the elves knock one out’ is not gonna work out for me, guitar-wise.”

“Kid, do you even believe in Santa Claus?”

“Well–not to be rude, man–but if you can’t bring me a finger, some stash, or an acceptably complicated guitar, then why should I believe in you?

“You’re a smart kid.”

“And, I got a kazoo. Good day.”

“Merry Christmas, kid.”

“Back at ya.”

Down In Jamaica (Queens)

All the entries so far are filling my Christmas balls with egg nog–

Ew.

–and making my heart grow three sizes today. Here’s another (I get to have as many entries as I want, because this contest is rigged) little-known Christmas song. WARNING: it is objectively terrible, as it is a reggae song sung by a Canadian, but it’s catchy and the video is a great early-80’s time capsule.

Shot at what looks like a wild Xmas party, but was most likely a Tuesday afternoon in October, this one’s got all the original MTV VJs, Pee-Wee Herman, and a guest appearance by Mr. T. (Kinda.) Give it a shot:

Show, Atlanta

A rare show in which Brent halts the proceedings dead twice: once in the first set, and once in the second; the rest is good, though. Killer Shakedown opener, braj. Twelve-minute Sugaree. Oddly-ordered second set that kicks off with an Estimated>Scarlet>Crazy Fingers. Huge Throwing Stones and then the always-welcome And We Bid You Goodnight to close the show.

It sells itself, really: 4/3/90 from the Omni in Atlanta. (And if you don’t take my word for it, just know that this was one of the spectacular shows released as the Spring ’90: The Other One box set, so it’s officially good.)

In Case Of Home Infestation…

Termites Call an exterminator.

Fruit flies Clean up your house, you sloppy menace. Fruit flies lead inexorably to science experiments.

Mice An exterminator could help, but what you really need is a cat, or a fleet of mini hunter-killer dronebots.

Snakes If you are Slash, then there is no recourse against the snakes, for they are there at your pleasure. For anyone else whose house is suddenly filled with sidewinders and mambas: crank the AC as low as possible and close all the shades. Snakes are cold-blooded and will get logy and slow in the chill; then, you can use their confusion against them.

Snails Salt.

Sloths In the abstract, a sloth infestation would be great; you could probably get Instagram-famous from it. In reality, sloths smell like the worst hospital in Mumbai. Luckily, they’re sloths, so you can just pick them up with a blanket or stuff them in a bag and toss ’em in the neighbor’s yard.

Tapirs What kind of life are you leading to have a tapir infestation? You need Jesus.

Moths Moths navigate by the moon, so show them your tushee and lead them out of your home. You’ll probably have to buy new clothes, too.

Puppies You do not have a problem.

Unicorns This would be much worse than you’d think: instead of magic, there would be an impaling–intentional or accidental–rather quickly. And even if you don’t get run through, a unicorn is still a horse and should not be inside. They are panicky beasts who make giant doodies.

Monkeys Terrible things would happen. Monkeys hate humans, and it is because they are jealous of us. People evolved. We left our hometowns and made something of ourselves; monkeys never left and spend their days smoking pot and hanging from stuff. Monkeys see, in us, their own failures. Monkeys are haters.

Apes This has to be broken down: chimps and gorillas would kill you, and they would do it in a most unpleasant way; orangutans might ignore you, but their stench would get into the walls and floorboards and the building would be condemned; and bonobos would fuck you. (I guess “fuck” isn’t the right word. “Sex things would happen to you,” is more correct.)

Werewolfs To be honest: most of the time, they’re great roommates.

Kangaroos If there is a mob of kangaroos in your house, that means you are in Australia, and even if you get the ‘roos out successfully, there’s probably a spider with ten knives instead of a dick in your closet. Can’t help you: let the kangaroos kill you.

Bats Easy: get a night job. This way, you’re out of the house when the bats are there. Plus, guano is a good organic fertilizer and you can sell it to farmers.

Wolverines The pluralization might help you here: wolverines are intensely anti-social creatures and putting more than one of them in any enclosed space will lead to a fight to the death among the animals; you can use this distraction to escape. If there is only one wolverine, you are going to die.

Brown bears Play dead or climb a tree. (One of those.)

Black bears Play dead or climb a tree. (The other one.)

The Ghost of Lady Di This gets old quick: she’s just not bright, and she won’t shut the fuck up. Also, ghost paparazzi.

Green Day

img_2956This neat picture of Garcia was taken at the Big Rock–

No.

–Powwow in…what?

This is October of 1976. The Day on the Green. It was an official release.

So was the Big–

Shut the fuck up.

–Rock…aw. You’re mean.

Yeah.

This is a much better look for the Big Guy, though.

Y’know that bit from Kill Bill about how Superman is the real guy, and Clark Kent is the disguise?

Sure.

Garcia’s beard was his real face.

Whoa.

Yeah.

A History Of Mustaches (German)

I have to think that history class at a German high school is more depressing than one in an American high school, if only for the fact that I have been led to believe that Germans teach what actually happened instead of presenting “God said America goes all the way to the Pacific” as a coherent narrative.

“Jenkins, tell those Injuns to get the hell out of the way. God said this was our land.”

“Right, Sarge, but they say God said it was theirs.”

“Oh. Whose God gave them machine guns?”

“Ours, Sarge.”

“That means our God is right.”

“Always has.”

Anyway, an Enthusiast from Germany (that would be a ChoogleLieber, in the local tongue) named Uli Tente (which is an awesomely German name) sets the record straight: the pics from yesterday were not from the Big Rock Powwow, but from the Aztec Bowl, which is in San Diego. In my defense, San Diego and Florida–though separated geographically–are the same thing.

Uli has also put together an overview of the short-lived mustache/hockey sweater look and I’ve saved it here: Mr_Mustache.

We may not know what the future holds, but we know when Garcia had a mustache; some days that’s enough.

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