Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Big, hot Sugaree? Y
Big, hot Far From Me? N
Far From Me? Y
If you met 4/18/87 in person, would it call you Pappy? Y
Why? Not a yes or no question; try again.
Iko Iko? Y Y
Does the rest of Irvine that isn’t Irvine Meadows suck? Y
Holy shit, did I actually recommend a show like a functioning Grateful Dead person? N
Watch this, pudknockers!
Don’t call the nice people pudknockers.
Those fuckers knock pud. I know that they do, and I’m a truth-teller, man.
No, you’re a school in 2020.
How so?
No class.
“Big dog’s comin’ at you, Lewis.”
“We’re in front of reporters, Bob. And we’re promoting a show to raise money for AIDS charities. The only way you attacking me could be any less appropriate would be if our mothers were in the room.”
“Your mom’s name is Mooey Lewis.”
“Bob.”
“Cuz she’s a cow.”
“Bob.”
“Four stomachs, chews her cud, the whole deal. You got a cow-mom.”
…
“I’m begging you, man.”
“Pistols at noon, Hewis.”
“Don’t call me that. And it’s usually pistols at dawn.”
“I don’t get up that early. Wait, I got a lunch thing tomorrow. Let’s make it pistols at two-ish. Half-past at the latest.”
“No pistols, Bob.”
“Then the big dog is comin’ at you.”
Hey, guys. I had an idea. Why don’t you cover an album by a fictitious band? Like, you write a whole record’s worth of new material and pretend it came from another band. Maybe a comically foreign band, I don’t know. And then you seed the internet with information about the fictitious band to further the ruse. How about that?
“That sounds like a lotta work, man.”
“What are we, fuckin’ nerds?”
“Hmm. Interesting.”
“Tell me more about the drums.”
“I’m happy with whatever the decision is.”
“Look how handsome I am.”
You do look handsome, Bobby, but what do you think about the idea?
“Of being handsome? Thought quite a bit of it. Then, uh, I ran with it.”
Mickey: actively masturbating.
OR
“Hi, there.”
“Yeah, uh, hi.”
Who is speaking right now?
“Bobby’s thighs.”
“Howdy.”
Noooooooope. Not happening.
OR
Everyone looks like they’re sucking up to Garcia to get a promotion.
OR
Billy’s shirt by Wyatt Koch. (Click at your own risk, but I’ll tell you upfront: you’re gonna want to murder the next rich fucker you see.)
OR
Amir Bar-Lev is directing a documentary about Phil entitled Tucker: A Man And His Shirts.
OR
Seriously, how was Bobby in a band with these mutants? He’s like an Eloi among Morlocks.
How about a show, Enthusiasts, an energetic and crackling bit of fun from the post-coma years? Check this out: 4/11/87 from the University of Illinois. Killer Sugaree. Black Muddy River? Also killer. Terrapin?
Killer?
Killer.
You lose your thesaurus?
Ran off with the dictionary. Heard they robbed a bank in Harrisburg.
Sounds like them.
There’s also a Desolation Row.
Garcia pitch in with the harmonies?
He does.
Love that shit.
Killer shit.
Stop that.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Giving Stripey here a try.”
Please stop turning your clothing into characters.
“Well, you know: they have feelings, too.”
They don’t.
“Besides, I’m paying tribute to Prince. So young.”
Bobby, you’re in 1987.
“Sure, sure, but there’s a Thai place that’s gonna open up down the road from me in 2016, so I like to pop in for takeout.”
Goddammit, stop using the Time Sheath to get lunch.
“Dinner, too.”
All meals. Eat in your own reality.
“It’s ’87, man. Everything’s fusion bullshit now.”
Just don’t.
“Probably gonna keep doing it. Hey, why are ducks singing about us?”
…
Drake.
“Boy duck, girl duck, whatever.”
It’s a person.
“Ducks are people in 2016? Not at the Thai place. They’ll kill one right in front of you.”
No, Bobby. Drake is a person. Well, he’s a Canadian.
“That counts.”
Legally. And he’s a rapper.
“Like Kool Moe Dee?’
Kind of.
“Kool Moe Dee is not related to Rick Dees. You know: the deejay? I found that out the hard way.”
I am not pursuing that.
“So, this Drake fellow. Big time guy?”
Famous as shit.
“Good for him. Music industry is tough on Canadian ducks.”
Not a duck.
“Does he have a human beatbox? I like that routine.”
I dug that act, too, but I don’t think Drake has one.
“Oh, hey, that reminds me: if Mickey asks if you want to see his human beatbox routine, say no.”
Does Mickey just–
“Beats humans with a box.”
–beat humans..sure, yeah.
“Is the duck gonna show up?”
Haven’t decided yet.
“Just lemme know.”
Gotcha.
“You’re doing what?”
“Not returning their calls.”
“At all?”
“Not one.”
…
“HAHAHAHAHA!”
“Yeah, right? Garcia, what the fuck are you guys wearing?”
“Repeat the question. I couldn’t hear you over your fingerless gloves.”
“Touché.”
“Seriously, Jer! The Nobel fuckin’ Prize!”
“No accounting for the taste of a Swede.”
“Right?”
…
“Jer, what the fuck’s your bass player wearing?”
“I don’t wanna talk it, man.”
“I wouldn’t, either.”
© 2026 Thoughts On The Dead
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
Recent Comments