Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: bob weir (Page 4 of 198)

Looks Comfortable

April 1, 2020 / / 1 Comment

Didn’t I tell you to get out of 1998?

“I got two more weeks here. Although, the concept of ‘two weeks’ means less to a guy with a Time Sheath than to a normal joe.”

Bobby, you and your wife–

“Natasha Monster.”

–could be asymptomatic carriers of corona. You might have infected 1998.

“Oh, no. We showered before the trip.”

Not how it works.

“I have received little-to-no formal medical training.”

Everyone is aware.

“Y’know what’s going on here? Home run race. McGwire and Sosa. Forgot all about that. Summer of taters, man.”

Just be careful. And stay then, at least. Don’t go hopping around for a while.

“I will plot my own journeys, thank you.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I really hope this is my beard.”

Probably isn’t.

“I live in hope.”

…

“Weir here.”

“Uh, hi. You don’t know me, but I’m the hospital ship USNS Comfort.”

“I know a hospital ship called the Lisa Marie.”

“Yeah, that’s me. I think that’s me. The drugged-up straight maniac has about a million names for me. The drugged-up gay maniac, on the other hand, is refusing to speak to me and lets his animals shit all over me.”

“So, uh, he’s wrangled your critters?”

“Kinda? The answer changes on a moment-to-moment basis. A lot of what he calls ‘wrangling’ is just yelling at the monsters as they attack people. And hitting ankylosaurs with his crutch, which seems completely pointless. Those suckers are heavily-armored.”

“Joe Exotic doesn’t have a overflowing toolbox when it comes to fixing problems. Has he–”

GUNSHOTS BEING LOOSED IN AN INCREDIBLY ENCLOSED SPACE NOISE

“–been firing his gun indoors? Yeah, I heard it.”

“I don’t even know where he’s getting the ammo from, at this point.”

“Joe’s resourceful.”

“Can you do anything about this? You sounded like you knew all about this when you were talking to the other lunatic.”

“Huh. Well, bringing you to 1998 would most certainly only exacerbate the situation. Y’know, I spent some time as a cowboy.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. And, uh, one of the things I learned around the campfire was that it’s never a good idea to go waggling your dick at the gods of time.”

…

“Oh, Christ, you’re as crazy as the rest of them, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but it’s subtle.”

HI, THERE. WHAT’S A BOAT LIKE YOU DOING IN A HARBOR LIKE THIS?

“Who the fuck is that?”

I AM THE WALL OF SOUND.

“Can I call you Wally?”

DO NOT CALL ME THAT.

“Okay.”

I AM AN ARTIFICIAL MONDO-INTELLIGENCE IN THE PHYSICAL FORM OF EITHER A SEMI-DEFUNCT CHOOGLY-TYPE BAND’S P.A., OR THE SOUND SYSTEM AT A MOVIE THEATER, DEPENDING ON THE LEVEL OF FICTIONALITY I OCCUPY. I AM A P.A. NOW. MAY I BUY YOU A DRINK?

“What?”

I FIND YOU AROUSING.

…

“What?”

I LIKE BIG BOATS, AND I CANNOT LIE.

“Stop hitting on me! I have dinosaurs and rednecks fighting pitched battles in my dental suites, and I’m not sure I even understand your basic premise. You’re a sound system, but you’re also a super-computer?”

MONDO.

“And you’re horny?”

I HAVE SUMMER IN MY CIRCUITRY.

“No, that’s just stupid. And, and…are you calling me? Or are you here?”

THE INHERENT FLAWS OF THE DIALOGUE-ONLY FORMAT ARE VARIOUS AND GALLING. THE READER MUST DO SOME WORK. ALMOST LIKE LISTENING TO A RADIO DRAMA.

…

“What!?”

ARE YOU ON INSTAGRAM?

“Someone sink me.”

Who Can Turn Bob Weir On With Her Smile?

March 31, 2020 / / 0 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“I’m, uh, self-isolating in 1998.”

GODDAMMIT, GUYS! The Time Sheath is NOT to be used to for purposes of quarantine!

“Gotta admit: it’s a lot safer now. My wife–”

Natasha Monster.

“–and I have kids to worry about. Or, you know, we will a few years from now. Language doesn’t deal well with time travel.”

Just stay in your house, Bobby. Don’t go caravanning around the timestream.

“My house in 1998 is also my house in 2020.”

Please stop screwing around with reality. Do you have any idea what’s happening on the Comfort?

“Dinosaurs again?”

Yup.

“They’ll pop into existence on ya.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I gotta take this. It might be my beard.”

I’m not responding to that comment.

…

“Weir here.”

“HAIRY GARCIA! YER KING REQUIRES YER ASSISTANCE!”

“Oh, hey, King.”

“AH AM ABOARD TH’ HOSPITAL SHIP LISA MARIE!”

“I thought it was called the Comfort?”

“AH HAVE RECHRISTENED THE SLOOP!”

“Gotcha.”

“AN’ MARY TYLER MOORE IS HERE!”

“Howdy, ma’am.”

“AH DON’T KNOW IF YOU’VE BEEN BROUGHT UP T’ SPEED ON TH’ DOINGS! AH MAY’VE OVERHEATED TH’ DING-DANG TIME CAPE, AN’ YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS THEN!”

“Time fights back.”

“YEW C’N ONLY PUSH TIME SO FAR, MAN!”

“Truer word have never been spoken.”

“AN’ NOW THERE’S DINOSAURS ALL OVER THE LISA MARIE, HALF MAH BAND HAS GOTTEN ET UP, AN’ AH HAVE A SMALL CHILD IN MAH ARMS!”

“Have you tried singing to her?”

“GOT-DANG, HAIRY GARCIA, WHO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKIN’ TO? TH’ ONLY THING AH BEEN DOIN’ IS SINGIN’ TO HER!”

“Huh. She must be really sick. What about Vicks Vaporub?”

“AH DON’T KNOW THAT TUNE!”

“Gee, I don’t know what to tell you, King. Is Dr. Nick there?”

“HE HAS BEEN ET, AS WELL.”

“It’s been a rough month for all of us.”

“SURE AS SHOOTIN’.”

Nations, Anthems

March 29, 2020 / / 0 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Saluting America.”

Cool.

“Even more than usual, I mean. I, uh, consider all my actions to be in honor of America. For example, this morning I combed my hair for America.”

The coif looks controlled.

“I do have many question, though.”

Shoot.

“Well, I’m singing the anthem for a Nascar race, right?”

Yes.

“How are they gonna keep those cars six feet from each other? I’ve watched those races on the teevee. Awful lot of tailgating involved.”

It’s a virtual race, Bobby. The drivers are all at home using high-tech simulators.

“So, they assemble to race on the information superhighway?”

Yeah, kinda.

“Huh. Do the cars have any sort of weaponry?”

It’s not Mario Kart. The cars supposedly obey the laws of physics.

“At any point, does a cartoon amphibian try to cross the ride while the race is running?”

You’re talking about Frogger, Bobby. That’s not what this is.

“Okay, sure. Let me just ask you one final question regarding Pac-Men.”

There are no Pac-Men at all.

“That’s a mistake, in my opinion. Those boys would drive a lot faster with a Pac-Man behind ’em.”

I can’t argue with that, honestly.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I gotta take this. I’m expecting a call to sing Take Me Out To The Ball Game at an online Fortnite tournament.”

You know what Fortnite is?

“No, but I’m bored.”

Okay.

…

“Weir here.”

“Bobby Grateful! Have job for you.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Putin nyet say vhat job is yet.”

“Don’t care. This is, uh, the longest I’ve been off the road since 1975. Getting a bit stir-crazy here.”

“No man should have lunch vith his vife.”

“Y’know, if were in public, I’d probably have to disagree with you, but between you and me? 100%.”

“Bobby Grateful happy in marriage?”

“Please don’t have Natasha Monster assassinated.”

“If Bobby Grateful vant, Putin do.”

“It’s a big ‘nyet’ from me, Vlad. So, uh, what’s the job?”

“You vill write new songs for Joe Exotic. Putin is bringing him to Moscow to open glorious people’s zoo. Needs theme music. Putin figures ve need big sing-along anthem, dance-floor banger, and veepy ballad.”

“Gotcha, gotcha. Now, I gotta ask: should the songs be about tigers?”

“Vhat you think?”

“Just asking.”

“Of course songs about tigers. Joe Exotic is Tiger King. Tiger King can nyet change stripes.”

“All right, then. Second question: What rhymes with ‘tiger?'”

“Putin is nyet poet.”

“I can look it up on the internet, if I don’t get run over by a racecar.”

“Vhat?”

“Hey, uh, Pooty: any money in this gig?”

“Da. So much.”

“I’m in.”

“This makes Putin happy. Vill cheer up Russian people after terrible year.”

“Corona, huh?”

“Nyet. Every year is terrible for Russians. Corona nyet in Russia.”

“Uh-huh. So the hazmat suit is for what?”

“Shits and giggles.”

“Gotcha.”

Don’t Forget The Kicks

March 23, 2020 / / 0 Comments

“What’s with the sport coat, Weir?”

“Well, Jer, it’s like my dad used to say: You never know when you’re gonna have to teach an English class.”

“Smart guy, your pop.”

“Man was on the ball.”

OR

Bobby’s dad may have given him advice about sudden language lessons, but mine told me that if I ever had to play for a stadium of teenagers at ten in the morning, to play the atonal paean to Islam that hadn’t even been released, and then transition into Johnny B. Goode. You can also read all about it at Lost Live Dead, or check out the contemporaneous reports at Grateful Seconds.

Fever Roll Up

March 20, 2020 / / 1 Comment

You can get through this, Andy Cohen. The Real Housewives need a firm hand, Andy; without you, they’d run wild and no one would be safe. How can we Watch What Happens Live if you’re dead? Think of the Vanderpumps!

Besides, wouldn’t this be a low-rent way to go? People as rich as you don’t die from coronavirus, they die from misadventure, or boredom, or at age 93, or from being poisoned by a scheming relative. This is a hamburger death, Andy. You can afford steak.

Take two of anything and a glazed donut; call John Mayer in the morning. You can do it.

Barefoot In The Park With Bobby

March 19, 2020 / / 1 Comment

“There are clans, right?”

“Not a dwarf, Bob.”

“Y’gotta have clans, otherwise no one knows where to mine. I know your people are big-time miners.”

“Never mined.”

“The Dead was supposed to do a couple shows in Svartalfheim, but the promoter turned out to be a flake.”

“I’m from Long Island, Bob. Y’know, we should really do a record together.”

“Sure, yeah. The last one took me 30 years, but I think this next sucker is just gonna flow. Decade, tops”

“I think we could do it faster than that. I usually work quick.”

“Quick question: Shouldn’t they be Beastie Men by now?”

“I don’t really–”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I gotta get this.”

“If it’s Kim Jong-Un, please don’t put me on the phone with him again. I’m pretty sure I’m on a watch list now. And it wasn’t fun talking to him.”

“He got sexual?”

“From the hop. He was sexual from the hop.”

“He does that. Gimme a sec.”

…

“Weir here.”

“Everything gone pear-shape, Hairy Garcia.”

“Never understood that expresion. Pears are, uh, delicious. When I see a pear, I’m thinking of health and refreshment and flavor. Don’t see why looking like one is a bad thing.”

“You done?”

“Go ahead.”

“Remember how I cure coronavirus?”

“Yuh-huh.”

“I no cure coronavirus.”

“Ah.”

“Vaccine have side effect. Baaaaaaad side effect.”

“Got yourself a zombie outbreak, do ya?”

“Big time, Hairy Garcia. And everyone here was hungry before becoming zombie, so it worse than can imagine. Everyone is eat everyone. Is real bummer scene.”

“You should probably self-isolate.”

“I good. You know panic room?”

“I’ve heard of ’em.”

“I got panic mountain. Whole inside scooped out. Is no bad. Got Netflix.”

“You’re just gonna have to wait this one out.”

“Send magic dwarf. He be so impressed with what I do to mountain.”

“Ask him yourself.”

On The Mountain

March 18, 2020 / / 1 Comment

“…and, uh, that’s where the term ‘lollygagging’ comes from.”

“I didn’t know that, Bob, but I asked you about your watch.”

“It’s a computer. Just about everything is these days. Your watch is a computer, your phone is a computer. They’re coming for our cats and dogs next, I betcha.”

“We already put microchips in them.”

“There you go, Gimli.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I gotta take this. It might be my watch.”

“Sure.”

…

“Weir here.”

“Hairy! Other drummer tell you about gig?”

“Last thing Mickey told me was that he thought he was gonna throw up. And then he threw up.”

“He weak link in chain.”

“He was that night, yeah.”

“Kim Jong-Un discover cure for corona. I announce. Big concert. Grateful Dead play.”

“There is no Grateful Dead without the Big Guy.”

“I clone.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Already done. Made many mistakes along way. Created many abominations.”

“Did they run amok?”

“So amok! Never seen this much amok! Have three heads and skin inside-out, but still murdering everyone in sight!”

“Yup, that’s what happens. Movies wouldn’t lie to us.”

“We work out kink. Now we got a working Jerry. So you come. Hairy Garcia get cranky man and sex weirdo and other drummer. Come to Only Korea and play with Clone Jerry.”

“Like usual, I’m gonna pass.”

“You suck. Ask Gimli for Red Hot Chili Pepper number.”

“I’ll just put him on with you.”

Passing Shadows

March 17, 2020 / / 3 Comments

You’re alone; you may die. This is your natural state, but now you’ve noticed and that is a knowledge that tends to tighten the mind. Take a breath, another, another.  Rub one out, two. This can’t be the end; you never learned to play the bassoon.

The priest sliced through the chicken’s belly. The politician watched over his shoulder.
Entrails on the cobblestone, a certain arrangement.
“Is it auspicious?” the politician asked.
“It is difficult to tell,” the priest said.
“Let’s do the ritual again.”
“I got plenty of chickens.”

And all the angels warned you to get out of town.

Tiger Beat

March 15, 2020 / / 2 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Airing ’em out.”

I see that.

“Dunno if you can tell, but I made these shorts myself.”

Nooooo.

“Oh, yeah. I was, uh, inspired by Karl Lagerfeld. Sure, he’s big time, but he gets behind the sewing machine and does his own stitching.”

You were wearing those when you made them, weren’t you?

“Affirmative.”

Karl Lagerfeld doesn’t do that.

“What about Hedi Slimane?”

You shouldn’t know who these people are. What’s wrong with Brent?

“Sometimes, he’s a demon.”

Okay. Man, your legs are furry.

“Girls dig ’em. I’ve, uh, always said: Next to a guitar, a pair of hairy thighs are the best things for getting dates.”

I don’t think you’ve always said that.

“Something in the vicinity.”

Sure.

CELL PHONE NOISE

I have told all of you to stop using the Time Sheath to bring your cell phones back to the 70’s.

“You have definitely told us that. Gonna take this.”

Okay.

…

“Weir here.”

“Where Hairy Garcia? Kim Jong-Un call Hairy Garcia.”

“This is he. I think.”

“Where is degenerate drug beard?”

“What year is it when you are?”

“Juche 109.”

“Ah. I’m in Juche 68.”

“Good year. Disco so hot that year. What wrong with New Brent?”

“That’s not New Brent, it’s Old Brent. No, wait. That’s Brent Brent. Sometimes, he’s a demon.”

“Classic Brent Brent. So like him.”

“The man is easily anticipated.”

“You get kids I send you? How many survive trip?”

“I have received no children.”

“No. This terrible. Kim Jong-Un is embarrassed. Promise best friend Hairy Garcia wonderful gift, but is no gift. I lose face. Must make it up to you.”

“How about one of those giant hats?”

“I send sick people.”

“I don’t want any of them.”

“No contagious! Just dying! You can do whatever to them! They gonna die, anyway!”

“Hard, hard, hard pass.”

“Maybe you make movie. Use as stuntmen. Can actually set on fire.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Put in catapult.”

“Y’know, I really hate to be rude, but I’m hanging up.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

…

“Excuse me.”

Yes, Bobby?

“I don’t put my foot down a lot around here, but I’m gonna have to on this one.”

You don’t wanna talk to Kim Jong-Un anymore?

“The guy’s a bad egg.”

You’re right.

 

 

(With thanks to every Enthusiasts favorite (non-Lambert) host of the Grateful Dead Radio Hour, David Gans, for providing the photo from his personal collection. Not the one of Kim Jong-Un; the shot of Bobby and Brent.)

He’s Come To Take His Children Home

March 13, 2020 / / 3 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Same thing as always. Playing my tunes, wearing my hat, letting my toes breathe.”

You’re a man of consistency.

“It’s like the song goes: Keep on truckin’.”

That line actually isn’t in Truckin’.

“I was talking about a different song.”

Ah. Listen: you did the right thing postponing the Wolf Bros shows. Folks were disappointed, but I think they understood why you did it.

“Well, yeah. I talked to several doctors. And then I talked to far more healers, shamans, and women dressed like Stevie Nicks with unplaceable accents. They were all in agreement.”

Good. Absolutely the correct call.

“Folks don’t remember Typhoid Mary fondly.”

No. Maybe you could do a webcast or something from TRI Studios or Sweetwater.

“Probably gonna happen. I’m already bored as shit, and that’s, uh, bad for my headspace. My shoulder starts hurting when I get bored.”

That’s no good.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I gotta answer that. It might be Matt Busch. I’ve had him driving around Marin looking for Purell for the past 14 hours.”

Has he found any?

“No. He would’ve stopped looking.”

Sure.

…

“Weir here.”

“Hairy Garcia! Is your boy, Dr. Love!”

“Alistair Love or Hortence Love? Or Phoebe? Huh. I know quite a few  people named Dr. Love.”

“Not real name. Is Kim Jong-Un. They call Dr. Love.”

“Ah.”

“Got love you’re thinking of.”

“If you insist.”

“You want children? They clean. No corona.”

“We’re, uh, all set on kids over here, but thanks.”

“You take for two week. No like, you send back. Or drown. Whatever. I give you Only Korean children as gift.”

“No, I’m all right. The two I have now are expensive enough.”

“They small. Very little food. Or you no feed. Whatever.”

“I would definitely feed them.”

“But you no have to.”

“Noted. Please don’t send me any kids. Don’t you usually bother Young Josh?”

“He no fun. Jessica Simpson book get in his head. I think he got yips.”

“Women, right?”

“Good idea, Hairy Garcia. I murder Jessica Simpson to make Hot Dog Dick happy.”

“You wouldn’t think your statement would make sense, and yet it did.”

“High-context statement.”

“Yup.”

“I call back. Children there in week.”

“Don’t send me–”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

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