I truly feel that we’ve all forgotten this happened.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: bob weir (Page 8 of 198)
Hey, Bobby.
“Y’ever just get tired of white people?”
All the time.
“Usually doesn’t happen to me. I dunno if you’ve noticed, but I’m white as hell.”
Sure.
“And most of my day is spent amongst my, uh, fellow crackers.”
I would imagine.
“It’s not on purpose. There’s no door policy, obviously.”
Obviously.
“Just happenstance. Stances happen, and it’s no one’s fault.”
Blame lands on no shoulders.
“Speaking of which…”
Your shoulder hurt?
“I got nothing to do this afternoon, so: yeah, why not?”
Have fun.
Precarious?
“Yo.”
That doesn’t look sturdy.
“The speakers?”
Yeah.
“Good eye. Not sturdy. Virtually no sturd at all. Sturdless, really.”
I just feel like the base of the structure should be wider for how high it is, and how much those speakers probably weigh.
“Good feeling. You’re batting a thousand.”
Was there any discussion within the Road Crew as to bolstering the towers?
“Little bit. Ramrod said something.”
And?
“We all called him a word you keep you telling me I’m not allowed to use anymore.”
Ah.
“Fag.”
We all knew what the word was.
“So what you see there is the architectural definition of ‘the least we could do.’ Maybe we could done less in a moral or mathematical sense, but architecturally? That’s rock bottom. Remove one piece and it all falls down. I’m kinda proud of us.
You shouldn’t be.
“And you shouldn’t be such a pussy, but here we are.”
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“I’ve signed to do a sitcom.”
No, you haven’t.
“Yuh-huh. The, uh, fellows from Long Strange Trip brought me the project. I play the road manager of a fresh-faced young jam band, Mister Blister and the Sister Kissers.”
That’s a terrible name.
“That’s just for the pilot. They change their name each episode. It’s what we call a ‘running gag’ in the comedy business.”
You are not in the comedy business.
“I’m always telling ’em stories about the old days. See, my character used to road manage Molly Hatchett, and folks would always ask, ‘Where’s Molly?’ I got some great lines like that.”
This show is a figment of your white-wine-and-valium-addled mind.
“And there’s a green spaceman. Tiny little guy. He, uh, grants wishes like a genie.”
That’s the Great Gazoo, Bobby. You’re talking about The Flintstones.
“We already shot the Bottle Episode. The, uh, youngsters get stuck in a jam for a half-hour.
Nope.
“Originally, my character’s name was gonna be Topeka Tony, but they changed it to ‘Bobby’ because I wouldn’t respond otherwise.”
Okay, that sounds right, but the rest of it is made up.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“I guess I’m doing one of those fantasy camp deals.”
No.
“Always managed to avoid ’em. God bless the Deadheads for that. There were some lean years, but ticket sales were never so bad I had to jam with randos.”
It’s a bit disheartening. But that’s not what you’re doing. That is a young man named Matt Jaffe. He was playing Sweetwater, and you were there getting drunk, so you jammed with his band.
“That sounds like me. Gosh, he’s young. Shouldn’t he be playing an app?”
Kids still play guitar, Bobby.
“Yeah, well, maybe. Tell you one thing: I dunno if I trust his haircut.”
Me, either.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Dreaming of the West.”
That’s some good Dead-shirt-wearin’ on all of your parts.
“Men were men back then.”
You’re not listening to me, are you?
“Women were women. The cattle were, uh, cattle. The doggies were also cattle, though. When you punched them doggies, you were actually talking about cattle. And you weren’t actually punching them. I can draw you a diagram, if you’d like.”
I’m fine.
“Destiny was around every corner back then. Course, there weren’t many corners, as the infrastructure wasn’t there yet. Let’s just say that destiny was over every hill. Just a short hike away.”
Okay.
“If you had a horse, you wouldn’t even need to pack a lunch. You could be there and back in a morning.”
What the hell are you talking about?
“America.”
What’s the dog’s name?
“Triscuits.”
Cool.
“Don’t do laser eyes, Weir.”
“Love laser eyes, Jer. No one else is doing it.”
“I don’t care.”
“None of the Stones. That Mick Jagger fellow pouts. That’s, uh, the opposite of laser eyes, facially speaking.”
“You look nuts, man.”
“I look focused and energetic.”
…
“You know: like a laser.”
“This is the worst trip to a balcony since Juliet, man.”
OR
What exactly is going on with Garcia’s nub-grip on his cigarette? How does that work? Did he use his index and ring fingers like plucky tweezers, or is the butt jammed in the web between stumpy and ring? I’m so confused.
The Expanse.
I see what you did there.
Ex-pants.
I SAID THAT I SAW WHAT YOU DID.
Some of the Enthusiasts are dipshits and need jokes explained for them.
Don’t insult your readers.
Why? They got nowhere else to go; the internet sucks now.
…
True.
“Weir, you know a little French. Why is everyone calling us pwa-loos?”
“Les poilus. It, uh, means ‘the hairy guys.'”
“Just like back home, man.”
“Plus ça change. Hey, Jer?”
“Yeah, man?”
“Seeing the world is fun and all, but it’s much better when you do it with your friends.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me.”
“Just saying. You hungry?”
“Weir, if you bring up Arthur fucking Treacher’s one more time, I’m gonna scream.”
“Paris is a very cosmopolitan city. There might be one.”
“There won’t even be a McDonald’s for seven more years, man. Let it go.”
“How about sushi?”
“Maybe. It’s 1972, man. We might have to stick to French food.”
“Then, uh, we’re off on a culinary adventure.”
“Hey, Jer.”
“Yeah, Weir?”
“Gendarme’s got your arm.”
“Good one, man.”
“Y’know, in addition to looking nifty, the Eiffel Tower is also the tallest FM radio transmitter in Europe.”
“Y’don’t say.”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t know any of the deejays over here, though.”
“Wolfman Jack’s Gallic cousin, Wolfman Jacques.”
“I bet he plays a lot of Johnny Hallyday.”
“Give the people what they want, man. Especially if they’re French, or they’ll chop your head off.”
“They’re, uh, easily-riled folks. Historically speaking.”
“Historically speaking.”
“Jer?”
“Yuh-huh?”
“I just realized that this is where they film Superman II eight years from now.”
“Weir?”
“Yuh-huh?”
“Don’t say stuff like that out loud around civilians, man.”
“Sure.”
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