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

Tag: dead & company (Page 12 of 38)

An Unlikely Subject

bobby tech sound check

“Look at him. Ignoring me.”

Red Metal Stool?

“Standing like that. ‘Hi, I’m Bobby and I don’t need any help standing.’ After all I’ve done for him.”

Don’t do this.

“Could not have made it through Santa Clara without me. Could not. Statement of fact.”

You should be happy for him.

“Fuck him!”

Jesus, Red Metal Stool.

“Maybe, who knows, just maybe, things can happen, and I don’t know: what if someone hit Bobby in the knee with a pipe like that ice skater?”

Don’t even say that! Not funny! Not cool!

“He used to need me.”

Aw, buddy.

“I barely even smell like quinoa farts any more.”

Ew, buddy.

“Someone changed a baby on me yesterday.”

Oh, no. That is not great.

“Ugly baby, too.”

That’s worse.

“They’re gonna throw me in the warehouse when tour’s over, man. They’re gonna throw me away.”

No, no, no. You’ll go–

“If you say anything about going to a farm with other stools, I’ll fucking murder you.”

–to a farm…yeah, okay: the future looks bleak.

“I’m married, y’know.”

I didn’t know that.

“Two step-stools.”

We’re done.

Miss Moses

deadandco shoreline poster

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?”

“What if Moses had boobies?”

“Depends, sir. Are you talking about Moses as a fat guy?”

“I didn’t say guests, Jenkins.”

“Guests, sir?”

“I combined “guy” and “breasts,” Jenkins.”

“Clever, sir.”

“Lady Moses, Jenkins. I’m seeing Cate Blanchett in the role. Matt Damon plays Pharaoh. Were there monsters in the Red Sea?”

“No, sir.”

“Then what was the third act?”

“Well, first of all, sir: this isn’t a movie we’re talking about. It’s a Bible story; they don’t have acts. Second, after Moses–

“Lady Moses, Jenkins.”

“–parts the Red Sea and leads the Jews to freedom, they all wander around the desert for forty years and then Moses dies.”

“It’s screaming for a reboot. Who owns the IP?”

“To the Bible, sir? It’s public domain.”

“You’re kidding! Jenkins, I have a great idea.”

“Please don’t say–”

“Old Testament Cinematic Universe.”

“–Old Testament…dammit, sir.”

“The Rock as Samson. The new Han Solo kid as King David.”

“Sir.”

“Brie Larson as a woman.”

“Sir.”

“How many parts should Matt Damon play? Four?”

“He’ll play as many as he wants. Never too much Damon.”

“Sir, may I remind you that the organization we work for has trouble coordinating its social media accounts with one another, or presenting a concert without resisting the urge to overlay Video Toaster graphics, or publicly taking acid onstage? We cannot launch a cinematic universe. We just need to make a poster.”

“You’re like that time Michael Jackson’s son went on a log flume, Jenkins.”

“I don’t get it, sir.”

“Wet blanket.”

“I get it, sir.”

“We’ll get Chinese funding, Jenkins. Learn the lessons of the 21st century, young man: Chinese funding is the key to everything.”

“Do the Chinese even know the Bible, sir?”

“They know it well enough to shoot people for reading it.”

“What you’re thinking of is completely beyond the capabilities of the Grateful Dead organization, sir. We could fuck up keeping sand in a bucket.”

“Oh, I doubt that, Jenkins. By the way and on a completely unrelated topic: how’s the Amazon show coming along?”

“Can we just make a decision on the poster?”

“What happened to the Wheel of Grateful Dead Bullshit?”

“John Mayer stole it and used it to pick out his outfit for last night’s show.”

“At least it has a good home. Just go with the Lady Moses idea for the poster.”

“Yes, sir. Any ideas about the font?”

“Oh, yes: turn the Illegibilizer up to “Death Metal band logo” and then back it off just a hair.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Wheel Is Turning

“Jenkins! Come here and look at this!”

“I’ve fallen for this before, sir.”

“It’s not my dick, Jenkins.”

“What am I looking at, sir?”

“My last poster-related fuck. It’s flown out the window and I wanted you to say goodbye to it with me.”

“There’s only so many ways to mix and match turtles, bears, and skeletons, sir.”

“It’s like how there were eight seasons of House, MD, but there was only one season worth of stories.”

“And the posters don’t even star Lisa Edelstein, sir.”

“Has she returned my calls?”

“No, sir.”

“I would convert for her, Jenkins. To Jewishness.”

“Judaism.”

“Both. Either. Whatever. I’ll believe whatever that woman’s heinie tells me to.”

“Sir.”

“50, Jenkins! Woman is 50 years old! Forget Hanukkah, that’s a true Jewish miracle.”

“Sir.”

“Like to put my menorah in her window.”

“The menorah is–”

“Your dick, sir.”

“–my dick, Jenkins. Oh, good: you understood the metaphor.”

“May we return to the poster, sir?”

“Oh, fine. Whose turn is it to spin the Wheel of Dead Bullshit?”

“I’m up, sir.”

“Wonderful, but I’m going to do it.”

“As always, sir.”

“Here we go. Such fun!”

SPINNING NOISE

“Come on, bears!”

“Don’t let me down, skeletons!”

SPINNING NOISE

CLACK CLACK CLACK

CLACK CLACK

CLACK

“Skeleton! Yes! Write that down, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And write down that I called it because I am awesome. We should go to Vegas, Jenkins.”

“Sir.”

“Vegas, Jenkins.”

“Please just spin the Wheel of Dead Bullshit again so I can have the poster made, sir.”

“My Lord, it has been nearly forever since I’ve told you to blast your eyes, hasn’t it?”

“It has, sir.”

“Blast them, then.”

“Yes, sir. The Wheel?”

“Fine, fine.”

SPINNING NOISE

SPINNING NOISE

CLACK CLACK CLACK

CLACK CLACK

CLACK

“Turtle! There you go, Jenkins: skeleton on a turtle. Something like that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why don’t we make all of our decisions with the Wheel, Jenkins?”

“Honestly, sir? That’s a great idea.”

“Write down that it was mine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wheatland, Jenkins?”

“Apparently, sir.”

“Founded by literal-minded sons of bitches, huh?”

“Seems that way, sir.”

San Diego Serenade

pretty girl deadandco chulavista

Hi, there. I like your political opinions. Wanna go shoot pool in the fictional section of town?

“What?”

Did you buy those sunglasses at the mall or in a gas station?

“Mall.”

Ooh, fancy.  What does Chula Vista mean, anyway?

“The town’s on a hill, so you can really see the chula.”

Okay. You have lovely teeth.

“They’re for chewing.”

Also ripping and tearing.

“Those three things, right. I don’t do anything weird with my teeth.”

Are you paying attention to the conventions?

“Not really a fan of cosplay.”

I meant the political conventions.

“Same answer.”

Let’s date. Like Taylor Swift does. You know: date.

“Oh, you seem great, but I have a boyfriend. He’s right behind you.”

fat guy dead hat

“GET YOUR OWN, BROTHER! SHE’S PARTYIN’ WITH ME TONIGHT!”

Who are you?

“THEY CALL ME CAPTAIN FUCK.”

I can’t believe I’m single.

“YOU AIN’T GOT CHARISMA LIKE ME.”

True.

ADDENDUM I swear to you that I began this post with the intention of passing along the stream, nothing more, and it just got away from me.

Company & Dead

Dead & Crew

Allow me to preface my silly little jokes with this: hail to the road crew. First in, last out, first blamed.

In no particular order:

  • If you asked someone to describe what this photo would look like before they saw it, they would have gotten it exactly right; nothing about this photo is a surprise.
  • Oh, wait: there’s a bunch of ladies.
  • They are hidden in the back.
  • Maybe the photographer is a bear, and all the women are menstruating, and the men are being chivalrous.
  • Beard guy.
  • Bald guy.
  • Bald guy who is maybe black.
  • Lady in red cocktail dress.
  • Matt Busch.
  • Other beard guy.
  • Waldo.
  • Harry Knowles.
  • Y’know, I think Bald Maybe Black Guy and Handsome Dan back there are the drivers for some reason–the two guys by Mrs. Donna Jean in the Stealie button-downs–and now I am fascinated by them and am starting to make up stories about them.
  • I will come up with better names, though.
  • And speaking on behalf of Mrs. Donna Jean: same shit, different century.

Call It Sleep Train

“Jenkins!”

“Sir?”

“What are the ideas for the Choo-choo Valley poster?”

“Chula Vista, sir.”

“Churro Vichyssoise.”

“Chula Vista.”

“Chewy Vagina.”

“Chewy Vagina, sir? Really?”

“It’s California, Jenkins. Maybe it’s Spanish for something.”

“Can we get to the poster, sir?”

“I was thinking about letting my nine-year-old make this one.”

“She’s made the last several, sir.”

“She’s very advanced. Smarter than me.”

“I thought you said she was advanced, sir.”

“What?”

“Nothing, sir. The poster. I had ideas beyond entrusting it to a child and clip art.”

“It wasn’t clip art, Jenkins.”

“No?”

“It was an app.”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, the idea is this: let’s get an artist. Someone who can draw. With a pencil. And we’ll have the artist draw something simple, but–and here’s the key to the whole plan sir–it will be drawn well. Like, the shading will be right ,and the proportions will be correct, and also lots of little scribbly stuff in the details. Basically, the idea is to have the image be attractive to the eye.”

“How will I break this to Little Susie?”

“Your daughter’s name is Francine, sir.”

“I was talking about my mistress, Jenkins.”

“Sir, I need you to concentrate.”

“That’s what Little Susie says, too. Jenkins, am I a dreamer?”

“Sir, please just let me produce one beautiful poster on this tour. Just one. All I’m asking, sir.”

“Oh, if you’re going to whine about it: fine.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“Make sure the bears are on it.”

“I’ll find a place for them, sir.”

“And go fire my daughter.”

“Yes, sir.”

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