Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
“Which one of ’em is the deafest, y’think?”
“Mickey.”
“Yeah?”
“Read my lips, Treyvon: Mickey is deaf as hell. Actually, reading lips is pretty much how he’s communicating nowadays.”
“C’mon, now. That bad?”
“He could be the starting fullback for the Gallaudet Bisons.”
“Stop it.”
“Mickey’s deafness is so profound that one can neither reason nor study one’s way there; it can only be accepted in full through a revelation, or satori.”
“Now, you’re being ridiculous.”
“So, what do they call you?”
“Bobby thinks I’m named Brett. Mickey and Phil mostly get it right on the second or third time.”
“Ha.”
“They’re like dads with a lot of kids: ‘Keith, Vince, Merl, which one are you? Bruce!’ It’s kind of adorable.”
“And Billy?”
“Billy’s called me Big Fella for 25 years now. I would bet good money he has never actually known my name.”
“I would not take that bet.”
“Smart.”
…
“What have they been calling you?”
“Well, Bobby calls me Trey, but needs to be re-introduced to me every time we meet.”
“Yeah, if you didn’t make it into Bob’s memory banks before a certain year, you’re just not getting in. I snuck in under the wire, I think.”
“Billy knows it’s Trey, but he’s got it in his head that Trey is short for Tremendous.”
“What is it short for?”
“Treyvon.”
“Huh.
“We’re really in the band, right?”
“Yeah, Trey. Remember: Phil sent us those nice letters asking us to join the band?”
“I just wanted to be sure this isn’t some Bobby bullshit. He asked everyone at his book club yesterday”
“Hey, who taught you about ‘Bobby bullshit?'”
“Heard some of the crew say it. What exactly is Bobby bullshit, besides the random and unauthorized invitations to join the Grateful Dead?”
“That time that Bobby impersonated a doctor to get into the maternity ward so that he would be the first thing the babies would see and imprint on him and boom: cult leader. And then someone had to explain to him that humans aren’t ducks and that made Bobby sad.”
“Bobby bullshit?”
“Bobby bullshit.”
“So, you don’t block the punch?”
“Oh, fuck, no. If you block the punch, then Billy hasn’t punched your dick. And he will: that’s a given. If you make him have to come back around, you throw him off his schedule and he starts to take an interest.”
“I don’t want that?”
“For all that’s holy, don’t let Billy take an interest in you.”
“I’m gonna get punched in the dick. Bottom line is: I get punched in the dick. That’s what you’re saying?”
“Well, I dunno, Trey: you can angle it off a bit or roll with it or cup up. Or, you can stop being a bitch and take your dickpunching like a man.”
“Jeez, Bruce: okay.”
“You know how many guitarists wanted this gig, and the inevitable punch and/or punches in the dick that came with it? You think that crazy old fuck hasn’t swatted my petunia?”
“All right! Sorry I asked!”
“Plus, you know: I’m nine feet tall, so my dick is proportionately gargantuan. It’s a lot of dick to punch.”
“Let’s just jam, Bruce.”
…
“It looks like a tube sock with a clementine orange in it.”
“Let’s just jam, Bruce.”
Why is Bobby eyefucking Bruce? If they were in the prison cafeteria and Bobby looked at Bruce like that, Bruce would have to shank him. Those are the rules of prison.
The casual fan might be amused by Vince’s skullet; the normal human tickled by TC, who looks as if he has been arrested in the Sarasota area three times this month for sexing strangers’ above-ground pools.
The Enthusiast knows that the real fun is Phil, who is not wearing his glasses and, therefore, completely blind.
And–as usual–where the fuck’s Mrs. Donna Jean?
Other bands can still sell out the big rooms.
The Stones can still do it, I suppose. Metallica. U2.
Tickets get snatched up quickly.
Maybe they’ll even add a second show.
Probably not a third.
But I’m gonna bet they can’t sell out three shows before the tickets even go on sale.
(Oh, and did I mention that people had to find envelopes and stamps and remember what the hell a money order was?)
The Boys play stadiums because there’s nothing larger.
Here’s something you didn’t know: that there is a survival accordion. Hidden in waterproof compartments amongst the bellows are a hunting knife, traps for small game, and moose repellant.
Check out more of Robbi Cohn’s pics at Deadimages. Also, be aware that profiting in any way off of this image will cause the Copyright Hyenas to eat you, and hyenas (no matter whether they be Copyright or just plain hyenas) eat their meals alive, and start from the asshole and work inwards/upwards.
This is the most Grateful Deads that have ever been assembled at one time.
“One gig in Long Island and 20 years later I still got smelly white people following me around. Weird-ass music business.”
© 2026 Thoughts On The Dead
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
Recent Comments