Yes, folks: Debd E Cowcang is playing tonight! At the Jaffa Cube Cave! In Braslow, Uarainia!
I don’t think that’s what the poster says.
Yeah? You tell me what it says.
…
Birds on drugs?
Right.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: dead & company (Page 18 of 38)
Attention New York Enthusiasts: do you wanna hear some news, or should I just go fuck myself?
God, that’s an old joke.
The good bits and the new material go in the big posts.
Sure. So what’s the news?
Dead & Co will not be at CitiField.
What? So who will be?
Dead & WHOA-OHH-AHHHHH-AHAHH-YEEEEEEEAAAAAHH!
…
Mrs. Donna Jean?
You didn’t hear it from me.
Who’d I hear it from, then?
No idea. But do you know that This Is All A Dream We Dreamed, the spectacular oral history of the Dead co-written by the great David Gans, is only $22.99 from Amazon?
I didn’t.
It’s a good deal.
Are you presenting me with randos?
“Look at this one’s haircut.”
Is his name Rocka Billy?
“I got no idea. Naming randos gives them power.”
Good point.
“These new randos are a different breed, though. I was used to teenage girls and frat boys.”
And now?
“Dead randos come bearing gifts, man.”
Oh, yeah. Brass ring for a Dead rando is to give a Grateful Dead something. They been giving you weed?
“Do you know what a Dragon Ball is?”
Z?
“No. It’s six pounds of 99% pure cannabis extract the size and shape of a small cannonball.”
I would like one of those.
“I have, like, nine.”
I could give you my address, and pay for the shipping.
“Pulled into a gas station in the Earthroamer in between Cincinnati and Camden, and two randos got in a fistfight over which one was going to pay for me.”
These are terrible problems, and I feel for you.
“Yeah, right: it’s not the worst.”
What kind of app is it?
“How do you know about the app? You shouldn’t know about that.”
Is it like the Kardashian apps, where you guide virtual John Meyer through his rocking day, accumulating points for soloing and wearing clothes, while enjoying a full array of in-game purchase opportunities?
“Seriously, how do you–”
Is it like Snapchat, but food-based? Is it Snackchat, John?
…
“I need to make some calls.”
Okee dokee, artichokee.
Hey, John Mayer. Whatcha doing?
“Oh, I’m worthy of a ‘Whatcha doing?’ now?’ You’re coming around on me.”
I’ve grown accustomed to the situation.
“Six of one.”
Got yourself a rando?
“Dude, you know that I was, like, famous as shit long before I even heard of the Dead, right? I’ve had more randos than a Japanese Star Wars cosplay convention.”
Nice one.
“Had it in my pocket.”
Still.
“I’m used to randos.”
…
“Okay, there’s a shit-ton more lately.”
Like moths to a flame, so is the rando to a Grateful Dead.
“They’re everywhere. Don’t get me wrong: they’re all pretty chill. But you can’t turn around.”
Occupational hazard.
“I keep finding them in the Earthroamer.”
That might be Soup.
“Dude, if it were Soup, I would have said I found Soup in the Earthroamer. I know Soup, man.”
Have you found Soup in the Earthroamer?
“Multiple times.”
Yeah.
“I don’t even know how he’s doing it. Guy’s the opposite of an escape artist.”
I think of him more as a vehicular hermit crab.
“Bobby’s thinking about putting a sniper on the roof of his tour bus.”
He should call Phil and have him send out a busboy.
“What?”
Storyline you weren’t part of.
“Gotcha.”
When’s your app coming out?
“What?”
Nothing.
Hey, Mickey. Got a theremin?
“Yup!
And baseball gloves?
“Uh-huh.”
Sweatbands on lockdown?
“They ain’t going anywhere.”
Barn full of people to listen to you whomp on stuff?
“They ain’t going anywhere, either.”
You happy?
“Pig in shit, man.”
Cool beans.
The song, y’see, was Cassidy, so the director superimposed seagulls. How would you know you were watching a hippie band unless the screen was full of hippie bullshit?
Joooooohhhn. Ohhh, JoooooooOOOOOOOOOHHHhhhnn.
…
“Who the fuck is that?”
Your future.
“No.”
Search your heart, John. You know it to be true.
“No. NO! I’ll never wear you!”
It’s going to be a hot summer, John.
“STAY AWAY FROM MEEEEEEEE!”
A WELL-APPOINTED HOTEL BEDROOM
“OH MY GOD! Jesus! What a terrible dream! Katy, wake up and listen to my dream and tell me if I should Snapchat it.”
I’m not Katy.
“NOOOOOOOOOO!”
The winning streak had to end sometime. This is awful, although I must acknowledge my biases, and admit that no poster featuring tie-dye, horse racing, and those fucking bears would gain my approval.
Anyway, the show’s being webcasted from SPAC tonight; you can buy it if you want.
When The Phishes did their Mexican shows, someone–a foul criminal–rebroadcasted the paid stream onto a private YouTube channel.
I hope no one’s doing that tonight with Dead & Company’s webcast; if they are, someone should tell me so I know who to be upset with. But definitely tell me.
But when Jeff Chimenti turned around, there was no rando.
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