Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
“That guy right there? That’s Bob Weir. He once ate an entire roast hog in one sitting.”
“Wow.”
“And he was sitting Indian-style.”
“WOW.”
“And that’s Bill Kreutzmann.”
“The best-selling author?”
“The author.”
“Wow.”
“And that’s Mickey next to him.”
“In the sailor hat?”
“Yeah.”
“Why is he wearing that?”
“Pettiness.”
“Wow.”
“Is that Branford Marsalis?”
“Yes.”
“Woooooow. Man, John Mayer has a kick-ass backup band.”
…
“Okay, you can’t stand next to me any more.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I’m gonna stick my dobro up your ass if you don’t take that stupid thing off.”
“Contract says I can wear it.”
“Just stand there and wave your mallets around, jackass.”
“Ah, wear your culottes, Weir.”
“You don’t like Lost Sailor, then write your own song and we’ll play that.”
“I wrote a song. I invented rap music.”
“Don’t you start with that shit again.”
…
“What the fuck is in your ears, Mick?”
“What the fuck are on your feet, Bob?”
“That’s it. Andrew!”
…
“Do you mean me, Bobby?”
“Andrew Perry.”
“No.”
“Apple Peach.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Ally Pally.”
“That’s a place, Bob. It’s Aaron Paul.”
“Whatever. You’re a criminal person. Come hit Mickey for me.”
“I am an actor, Bobby. Not a criminal.”
“There’s a difference?”
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