Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: bob weir (Page 57 of 198)

Get In The Van

February 14, 2017 / / 3 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Oh, uh, getting out of the van.”

Okay.

“Later, I’m gonna get back in the van.”

Sounds fun.

“I actually did the math a while ago. 8% of a Rock Star’s life is spent getting in and out of vans.”

What about the rest?

“Glad you asked. 10% is deciding on what trousers to wear.”

Makes sense.

“30% is suing or assaulting people trying to steal from you. Or, you know: dangling them out of windows.”

Gotta dangle a guy out a window now and then.

“It’s what the music industry was founded on.”

Yup.

“10% is Rando-related activities.”

Pictures?

“And tuggers.”

Sure.

“15% is avoiding Clive Davis when he’s drunk.”

Obnoxious?

“Handsy. Add in another 10% for, you know, family or whatever.”

About right.

“Another 15% for tuning up.”

That might be strictly a Grateful Dead percentage.

“Could be.”

Wait. That leaves 2%.

“Actually playing music.”

There ya go.

Young(ish) Love (Kinda)

February 7, 2017 / / 4 Comments

That’s the look, Bobby.

“The look?”

The look of love.

“Love’s fine, but I’d prefer some light hanky-panky.”

You’re gonna get it.

“Probably.”

Get it all over you.

“All right, c’mere.”

SIDLE SIDLE SIDLE

“What’s wrong with you, man? You’re at a party.”

No you’re at a party. I’m at my desk.

“You’ve never quite made the rules of this universe clear.”

You’ll be the first to know what they are.

“Ah. So, yeah: lemme work in peace.”

Billy always tells me about his sex life.

“Billy tells the planet about his sex life. It was half his book. I’m, uh, a gentleman.”

You are, Bobby.

“Now let me get back to trying to pork Loni Anderson.”

Laurie.

“Her, too.”

 

Grateful Deads Prefer Blondes

February 7, 2017 / / 3 Comments

You look very nice.

“Thank you, I had a thorough polishing before the show.”

I’m not talking to you, Red Metal Stool.

“The lady?”

Yeah.

“Y’know, she sat on me before.”

Stop this.

“Nice.”

Knock it off.

“I couldn’t breathe, but I liked it.”

Ew. You looking forward to Summer Tour?

“Gotta be better than the Mexican debacle.”

Yeah, bad luck. You weren’t, um, in the splash zone?

“I was fine. Can’t say the same for my cousin.”

Your cousin?

“White Porcelain Toilet.”

We’re done.

“He’s in therapy.”

I said we’re done.

Simply Amazing

February 7, 2017 / / 4 Comments

I don’t understand what I’m looking at here. Walk me through your trousers, Bobby.

“They were sold to me as a set of drapes.”

They are flabbergasting.

“Comfortable as all get out.”

“Get out” is a good phrase to use. You should get out of those pants.

“They’re not so bad.”

Not if you made them yourself on a desert island.

“First you attack Snake Tee-Shirt. Then you attack Giant Curtain Pants–”

Don’t anthropomorphize the pants!

“–and you know, man: I gotta live with ’em. Stop riling up my clothes.”

Sorry.

“It’s all right.”

Cool. Hey, Phil.

“You see Weir’s pants?”

How could I miss them?

“I can hear you two.”

“I know.”

Yeah, we know.

…

Oh, God, you’re wearing your fanny pack, too.

“We’re through for the night.”

Okay.

Blue-Tie Bobby

February 6, 2017 / / 1 Comment

Dignified.

“Ignore this.”

It’s tough to gloss over. That tie is hideous.

“Tie? I thought it was swim goggles.”

Looks like them, yeah.

“I, uh, got a bone to throw at you.”

Pick with you.

“I know what the saying is. I’m madder than that. I wanna, you know, just chuck a thigh bone at your head.”

What?

“What did you say to Snake Tee-Shirt?”

Goddammit.

“Y’know that shirt received the Medal of Valor.”

No.

“Two Purple Hearts.”

Nuh-uh.

“A Green Clover, and a Yellow Moon.”

You’re talking about cereal, Bobby.

“I’m talking about Nam, man.”

SNAKE TEE-SHIRT WAS NOT A MARINE IN VIETNAM.

“Don’t yell at me.”

Sorry. The point stands.

“Snake Tee-Shirt’s always telling stories about Vietnam. First half of the story is about basic training, and then the last part is Nam. First half is more entertaining, honestly.”

Right.

“Or about how his platoon was split in between the drinkers and the pot smokers, and how his sergeant was killed in a visually iconic way.”

Bobby.

“Or all the surfing he did.”

Bobby.

…

“He was a radio deejay for a while.”

These are movies, Bobby. Snake Tee-Shirt is telling you stories from Vietnam movies.

“How do you explain his friendship with the Montagnards?”

I can’t.

“Checkmate. Leave Snake Tee-Shirt alone.”

 

Semper Reptilis

February 6, 2017 / / 1 Comment

Hey, Snake Tee-Shirt. Long time no see.

“How’sss it hanging?”

Can’t complain. You?

“Sssad.”

Aw, buddy. What’s the matter?

“Worried about the United Ssstatesss.”

We all are.

“I’m a patriot. You know I wasss in the Marine Corpsss.”

You don’t pronounce the S in that word, let alone pronounce it like that.

“You don’t ressspect veteransss.”

Yes, I do. And you are not a veteran.

“I ssserved my country, boy! Not like sssome pussssssiesss I could mention.”

You did not.

“I wasss at Khe Sssan.”

NO, YOU WERE NOT.

“Sssometimesss, I’m ssstill there. My buddiesss died in my handsss!”

You don’t have hands.

“Ssslevesss.”

You don’t even have sleeves. You were not a Marine.

“Thisss isss my rifle, thisss isss my gun.”

YOU DON’T HAVE HANDS.

“Audie Murphy didn’t have handsss. They let him be a Marine.”

First of all, he was in the Army. Second of all, he lost his hands in combat. He didn’t show up at the draft office and open the door with his foot. Third of all, you are a tee-shirt.

“You’re racissst.”

Can’t be racist against shirts. Shirt is not a race.

“I even remember the sssongsss we would sssing when we marched.”

You can’t march. You slither.

“I DON’T KNOW, BUT IT’S BEEN SSSAID–”

Stop this.

“MARIE ANTOINETTE GIVESSS REAL GOOD HEAD!”

I regret talking to you.

Bob And His Uncle

February 6, 2017 / / 4 Comments

Get your feet off the couch, mister.

“It’s a green room couch. Worse things than feet have been on it.”

Yeah, sure. You see the game?

“Huge. Comeback of the century.”

How about it, huh?

“No one thought the Chiefs had it in them. Gave everyone a little surprise.”

The Chiefs? Kansas City wasn’t in the Super Bowl, Bobby.

“Tamalpais Chiefs. Marin County touch football championship game today.”

Oh.

“We played the Stinson Beach Marauders. Kind of a grudge match. Ran for two touchdowns, threw for one.”

In those shoes?

“Course not. I had on my football sandals.”

Makes sense. Who’s on the Chiefs? Just guys from the neighborhood?

“Used to be, yeah. But, uh, this is a big game. I called in some favors. Got some ringers.”

Ringers?

“I know some guys.”

Who?

“I had my hands up on defense, but apparently you don’t do that in this sport.”

Hey, Bill Walton. You’re Bobby’s ringer?

“For the first quarter. Then both my shins exploded, and I had to miss the rest of the season.”

Sure.

Don’t Stand So Close To Bobby

February 4, 2017 / / 5 Comments

Hey, Bobby.

“Look, it’s Slash.”

No.

“Smosh.”

What?

“Shamalamadingdong.”

Sting. His name is Gordon Sumner, and he goes by Sting.

“Not ringing any bells.”

He opened for the Dead.

“Apparently, so did the Violent Femmes, whoever the hell they are. So, you know: you’re gonna have to narrow it down a bit more than that.”

He was in The Police.

“Oh, shit.”

No. Not the police. The Police.

“Ah. I didn’t notice the capitalization. Wait, yeah. They were a trio, right?”

Yup.

“I do not cotton to trios, gotta tell ya. At least six or seven too few people in the band.”

Bobby.

“Yeah?”

Reach in there and tweak his nip.

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.”

You could, though.

“You can see an awful lot of him.”

Too much. Hold on: is Sting wildly under-dressed, or are you wildly over-dressed.

“Both. This picture was taken at a pool party.”

Sure.

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