Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: bruce hornsby (Page 3 of 7)

Grateful Dead: After Dark

July 14, 2015 / / 9 Comments

TotD was perfectly happy with no comment section, or one populated strictly by the insane, but now there seems to be a vaguely competent group and I am also okay with that.

However, sometimes the comment section introduces pernicious thoughts into the conversation, and IT IS ALL THEIR FAULT FOR WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN.

Grateful Dead Sex Toy Merch, available on fucktheewellmerch.com, was bound to be a big-seller, but the prudes upstairs shut it down. TotD has the only extant list of products.

  • Grateful Dead Real Dolls. These lifelike, high-quality sex dolls looked eerily like any member of the Dead you specified. If you want to order a bunch of them and make them do stuff to each other, that’s your business and we do discount for volume.
  • Garcia Latex Power Fist. With nub!
  • Brent Latex Greedy Mouth. With beard!
  • Cock Ring With Bruce Hornsby’s Disapproving Glare Printed On It. “Bruce says, “You’re a disgusting animal.'”
  • Lube That Tastes Like Keith.
  • Precarious Lee Brand Condoms. “For when you want a baby, or herpes.”
  • Bonera. Bobby’s preferred prescription-strength boner pill; it’s half-viagara, half-vicodin.
  • Alembic Penis Pump. This quarter-million dollar penis pump requires three mega-joules of power to run and will almost certainly rip your dick off.
  • Alembic Vibrator. It’s the size of a Buick and has at least three dozen knobs on it.
  • Alembic Handcuffs. They seem to be run-of-the-mill cuffs, but they cost $50 grand.
  • Wall Of Pound. It’s a sex pillow, and it’s a quality product: real sturdy and easy to clean.
  • Butt Plug Shaped Like Vince.

Okay, that’s enough.

I haven’t even started on the Ned Lagin section.

Don’t.

That’s the stuff you need a safe-word for, I guess.

Stop talking.

The Suite Life

July 13, 2015 / / 37 Comments

https-instagram.com-p-4pawd5KO6P

The only way Billy could afford these tickets to the Dead show is by playing in the Dead show, thereby defeating the purpose.

In another life, TotD watched an LA Kings game from the serious-money box seats and it’s a different, and better, world in there. For instance, there is no limit on hot dogs, and then, when you vomit because no one stopped you from eating nine hot d0gs, the staff will act like they’re not disgusted. They will also keep bringing you hot dogs.

The nice folks at CID (Capitalus In Domino) were responsible for the luxury boxes in Chicago, and the amenities were super. You could pick out any fan in GA and have him or her brought to you, for eating or sexual purposes.

CID guests that took in the shows from our Praetor’s Villas also had access to:

  • Attractive people could bathe you at set break.
  • Or, if that’s not your thing, ugly people could throw turkey sandwiches at while you tried to pee. Either way is good.
  • Many cakes.
  • A similarly large variety of pies.
  • Like, any sandwich you can imagine.
  • Imaginary meats in between impossible breads and slathered with legendary spreads and/or condiments.
  • Dragon on gluten-free pumpernickel?
  • You want a pickle with that?
  • You get pickles with fucking everything at the Praetor’s Villa.
  • CID staff will accommodate any food allergies or sensitivities with a smile, because if you’re rich enough to be in this joint, then you have food allergies and/or sensitivities.
  • Rich people are bored, I think.
  • Massages upon request.
  • Licensed physiotherapist or sex slave off the highway: whatever context you like strangers to grab at you in.
  • We can also get fat ladies to do stuff to your feet, or with your feet, or on your feet.
  • If you want to get your feet together with fat ladies, we can make that happen in almost any way, is what we’re getting at.
  • Private bathroom, or security to escort you to the common facilities.
  • If you request, the security will push everyone else out of the way so you can go first, and then throw money at them while you tinkle.
  • Complimentary, exclusive, limited-edition Dead 50 merch, such as t-shirts, hoodies, and cock rings with Bruce Hornsby’s disapproving glare printed on them.
  • “Bruce says, ‘What are you gonna do with this boner, you filthy perv?'”
  • Free parking, OR
  • Shuttle bus to the hotel/after-party, OR
  • Piggy-back ride to the nearest guy selling balloons, OR
  • Skinned and dumped in an alley.
  • Private, secure suite with 4 55″ HD sets playing the shows and a 7.1 surround-sound system with an EXCLUSIVE sound mix just for the Praetor’s Villa done by Bear’s Ashes.
  • Fully-stocked bar.
  • Experienced and attractive bartender with pretty much everything else you’d need in his backpack.
  • So much shrimp you deny Christ’s divinity three times before morning.
  • Ninjas on-call.
  • Really complicated deserts that require fire, for some reason.
  • John and Katy might stop by at set break.
  • Full complement of armed guards in case the Poors decide they’ve had enough and/or want your shrimp.

All in all, CID’s endeavors were a success. All of the Praetor’s Villas were sold out, and none of the illiterate wastrel scions of the nation died on premises, so legally that’s a win.

 

Good Evening, We’re Here To Date Your Daughters

July 11, 2015 / / 0 Comments

IMG_1887

Without even a feint at any sort of order:

  • Everyone looks pretty good.
  • Mickey is using his tremendous forearm and wrist strength to keep Phil and Billy in proximity.
  • Mickey’s got dad strength, old guy strength, and drummer strength: you would not want to play the Lobster Game with him.
  • There’s just not much to really goof on: everyone looks healthy and upright.
  • Mickey and Bruce should not both be standing, though.
  • As always, this turns into a commentary on Mickey.
  • Look at how adorable Trey is with his potato salad and then Bobby’s all SHAZAM! and the contest is over.
  • And then there’s Bobby’s thigh, which is now a full-fledged Grateful Dead.
  • …
  • They all look good and that makes me happy but is complete shit for material.

And We’re Wearing Sunglasses

July 1, 2015 / / 3 Comments

santa clara bruce
Bruce.

“Hey.”

Bruuuuuuuuuce.

“Right, sure. How are you?”

The glasses, right? Right? I get it, man: I get it.”

“Okay. What?”

Yer fuckin’…yer glasses, man. Fuckin’ glaaaaaaaasses. Hornsby hidin’ his eyes and shit, cuz they’re all, like huuuuge and shit, right? Brahj? back my shit up, Brahj.

…

“What?”

I bet if I touched you, I’d be totally tripping balls and shit cuz that’s how acid gets from person to person, man.

“No, that’s how pink-eye gets from person-to-person.”

…

RIGHT, MAN: pink-eye. I get you: fuckin’ piiiiiiink eye. Say no more.”

“Yeah, I probably should have said strep.”

Streeeeeeeeeeppppp.

“Could someone call Parish out of retirement?”

To Lay Me Down (Ineffectually)

June 28, 2015 / / 0 Comments

I am posting these pics under formal protest against this nap that simply will not take. Did I not lay down all sleepy-shluffy? Were there not David Attenborough-narrated nature documentaries on the Netflix?

I blame Peter Shapiro.

Let’s see what’s going on around the Dead’s world:

jeff chimenti bruce“Bruce, I’m gonna show them my power.”

“Jeff Chimenti: do not do that. They can’t handle your power. Bobby can’t even stand.”

“Power’s gotta come out, man.”

…

“You look like a drag queen’s Emmylou Harris routine.”

“Fuck off, Bruce.”

mickey billy
“Hey, Billy?”

…

“How’d you get up there?”

“No idea. Listen: can I have some real drumsticks?”

“Out of the question. You realize how much embossing Stealies on all those mallets and brushes was?”

“I guess. Can I bring every drum ever made?”

“Oh, sure, definitely.”

IMG_0902
Were you aware that Bill Walton enjoys the Grateful Dead? He doesn’t really wear it on his sleeve – his freakishly large, surgically reconstructed sleeve.

10932434_383741128501547_1271544524_nPeople failed to recognize John Mayer’s buddy Andy Cohen in the previous shot; he is an executive at the Bravo channel and has some sort of talk show where he gets drunk with reality stars.

John Mayer is most often referred to as a douchebag; Andy Cohen has never been called this because douchebags are for vaginas and Andy Cohen is most assuredly not for vaginas.

Status Update

June 25, 2015 / / 0 Comments

dead stage
STAGE: Getting there, and would get there a lot sooner if Precarious Lee hadn’t started communing with Bear’s spirit and tried to rewire the mixing board with a hammer.

BOBBY: Relaxed, doing yoga, letting out yoga farts, hanging out with the dogs.

BILLY: Bored, antsy, regretful about Benjy Eisen’s tragic death, sending hookers to Bruce Hornsby’s room.

PHIL: Yelling at Peter Shapiro, the internet, Mickey, and Jeff Chimenti. Also binge-watching Orange is the New Black.

MICKEY: Arguing with contractors about the new closet he’s going to add to fit the three tons of free t-shirts he’s picking up the next two weeks.

PETER SHAPIRO: Being yelled at by Phil, remembering what someone wrote about meeting your heroes, paying off angry hookers Billy sent to Bruce Hornsby’s room.

BENJY EISEN: Dead.

GARCIA: Also dead.

TREY ANASTASIO: Nervous and scared, but mixed with excitement. Like 90% excitement, and 10% nervous and scared? Hanging out in his hotel room playing the Laser Duck and listening to all the screaming going on in the hall.

THE DEADHEADS: Gathering as we speak.

THE GATE: Being counted, laundered, turned into krugerrands, and flown to the Cayman Islands as we speak.

BRUCE HORNSBY: Being beaten with a shoe by a hooker named Flaflonda, hating Billy.

JEFF CHIMENTI: On-time, sober, and prepared for whatever opportunities you choose to include him in, thank you.

 

 

Bruce Hornsby & The Ginge Alpha

June 8, 2015 / / 0 Comments

trey bruce big“Last chance to back out, Treyvon.”

“Bruce, I am pumped. I am psyched about these gigs like I haven’t been in a long, long time.”

“I like to hear that. Y’know, I’ve been playing it cool, but I got some goosebumps, too, brother.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Give this thing the proper good-bye.”

“Right. Of course, first we gotta survive a month with these freakshows.”

“I plan on taking up drinking.”

“You’re smart, Bruce. Opiates would be great, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. The secret of the poppy is that the first little bit is awesome and truly unlocks some creative spaces you wouldn’t have been able to access without it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But then there’s a rough decade.”

“Wow.”

“Quite a bit more vomiting than one would choose.”

“Good tips.”

“Sure. Speaking of vomiting: how are they?”

“Mickey’s in tip-top shape.”

“That’s nice.”

“Been at the rehearsal studio for a few weeks, now.”

…

“Sleeping–”

“Sleeping there.”

“–there? Dammit.”

“Not really sleeping.”

“Oh, what could be worse?”

“It’s like the Tony Stark suit-building montage, but with drums.”

…

“He’s inspired.”

“He’s inspired.”

“Also, this is the first blank check anyone’s handed Mickey for a while.”

“And he’s gonna whack on every piece of tanned animal hide he can until the money runs out.”

“You seem to get Mickey, Trey.”

“I do, though you will notice my band does not contain one.”

“Mm.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Bruce Hornsby & The Ginge Number Let’s Just Say 13

May 16, 2015 / / 0 Comments

trey bruce big“You see that Dear Jerry thing, Bruce?”

“I did. Most of it. Enough.”

“Thought you were gonna be there.”

“It turns out that I didn’t want to.”

“Good call.”

“Y’know, Trey: I’m not the only keyboardists left alive because I’m dumb.”

“I hear that.”

“Where were you?”

“I find the whole jam-band scene boring and creepy and insular.”

…

“I’m shitting you.”

“You had me going, T-Rex.”

“Don’t call me that.”

…

“What are you hearing about their general levels of sanity/consciousness?”

“Mickey and Bobby are sharp-eyed and ready to play.”

“Billy?”

“If he makes it to the end of this book-tour/twelve state rampage/drug marathon he’s on, it’ll be a miracle.”

“Phil talk to anyone?”

“Phil didn’t talk to his own band, half of which is made up of his sons.”

“He’s taking Billy’s book personally, huh?”

“Words can sting, Treyvon.”

Do You Feel Like I Dew?

May 14, 2015 / / 0 Comments

billy peter frampton
“Do we have enough guitar players?”

“How many do we have?”

“Eleven.”

“Get two more.”

“Okay. There’s gonna be at least three people playing keyboards at all times, right?”

“Dude: All. Star. Super. Jam.”

“You don’t have to be a dick.”

“I wouldn’t if you would do your homework..”

…

“Is that Peter Frampton?”

“You mean ‘noted Deadhead and interpreter of the Garcia/Hunter songbook’ Peter Frampton.”

“I do not, no.”

…

“Well, it’s still Peter Frampton.”

Things You Can Tell Just By Looking At Bruce Hornsby

May 3, 2015 / / 0 Comments
  • Real name: Brucellosis Slappington Hornsby.
  • 7’8″.
  • Walks in his sleep, but not normal walking: that speed-walking nonsense from the Olympics. He puts on the outfit and the helmet with the mirrors attached, the whole thing.
  • Does Civil War recreations on weekends, pretends to be Matthew Brady’s sleazy brother Huffy, attempts to talk people into taking sexy daguerreotypes.
  • Named his two boys after famous pianists, but normal-named famous pianists. Did not saddle either child with “Professor Longhair Hornsby,” “Thelonious Hornsby,” or “Liberace Hornsby.”
  • The first and third names are goofs, but I bet Bruce brought Thelonious up to his wife. Maybe as a middle name, honey?
  • Insists on rocking the old-school short shorts for the YMCA basketball league. Also, for when he used to get dragged along to parent/teacher conferences.
  • Protects his hands by, instead of offering his right hand for a handshake, extends a finger (not that one) from his left hand and kind of waggles it at you.
  • This, Bruce says, is to protect his hands.
  • So what would be funny is if someone took the proffered digit and snapped it like a dry chicken bone at the medial metacarpal.
  • And, he’d be all “WHAT THE FUCK?”
  • So, you’d be like, “Your precautions and risk-management amuse the Abandoned Gods and summon their ire, Bruce.”
  • And then you’d turn back into your true form, a sentient AAA map with agoraphobia. (Humans are not capable of understanding your true form.)
  • Also, doing that to Bruce Hornsby’s finger isn’t “funny” so much as “psychopathic.”
  • Do not break Bruce Hornsby.
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