Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Bobby’s dick called out to Billy.
“Punch me,” it whispered. “Punch me, for I am a dick and you are Billy and you punch dicks. Also, I am Bobby’s dick and we’re in public, so it would be really funny.”
Mickey, being a drummer, can also hear dicks; he is ready to block the punch.
Good job, Mickey.
![[PDF] John Mayer and Bob Weir of](http://thoughtsonthedead.com/wp-content/uploads/PDF-John-Mayer-and-Bob-Weir-of.jpg)
“Let me play you in the TV show.”
“Can we talk about this later, Josh?”
“Now is good. I can do two things at once.”
“You can’t play me.”
“Butt-chin!”
“I don’t have a butt-chin, Josh, I have a beard.”
“But young you didn’t.”
“No, no. I’ve always had a beard; it’s just sometimes I used to shave it off.”
“Bob, think about it: we’re both tall and handsome.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Great hair.”
“Sure.”
“Plus, I can actually play guitar.”
“You’ve been soloing for months now.”
“And you know I’ve been taking acting lessons.”
“Well, yeah: everyone knows. I’ve been meaning to say this: you gotta stop making Oteil run lines with you. I think it makes him uncomfortable. Or at least stop doing scenes from Fences.”
“It’s an American classic!”
“Sure, but you really get into character and sometimes there’s a bit of line-straddling that I’m not sure you’re aware of. Plus you step all over his lines.”
“Just between you and me, Bob: Oteil’s not much of an actor.”
“That’s because he’s a bass player.”
“Notwithstanding. Just asking for some commitment to the craft.”
“Right, sure. Josh, you can’t be in the show.”
“Waaahhhh.”
From the Tonight Show this week.
Of note: Bobby is looking trim, Mickey has negotiated return of his bass drum. (It is unknown whether Mickey negotiated the return of his bass drum microphone.)
![[PDF] -Willy Wonka & The](https://thoughtsonthedead.files.wordpress.com/2016/02/pdf-willy-wonka-the.gif)
What it says on the label.
Is that your natural color, Jeff Chimenti?
“Only Big-Dicked Sheila knows for sure.”
Break a wing tonight.
“Gotcha.”
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Tuning up for the big TV spot. Gonna be on Carson.”
Nope.
“Leno?”
Nuh-uh.
“Is Josh Meyers guest-hosting again?”
Jimmy Fallon.
“Who?”
Yeah, that’s about the only right answer to that. He’s a little drunken giggler. Plays beer pong with his guests so he doesn’t have to have a conversation like a grown-up.
“Ah. Must have missed the announcement.”
Bobby, why are you tuning up? The show’s not for, like, seven hours.
“Well, you know: I can either tune now, or do it while we’re supposed to be playing like usual.”
Now’s good.
“Yup.”
One more question: how many songs you guys doing?
“Um. Just, uh, the one.”
One song?
“That’s the way these things work.”
Then why do you need so many doodads?
“If I didn’t bring them, how would people know I played guitar?”
You’re holding one.
…
“Sometimes, you don’t get it, man.”
Have a good show, Bob.
“Sure.”
I know they didn’t take away your hairbrush, too, Mickey. I’m sure Bobby went to Big-Dicked Sheila’s. He would have given you a ride.
Quick reminder: The Dead Or What’s Left Of ‘Em will be on Jimmy Fallon’s show tonight. Show starts at 11:35 on the East Coast, and the band usually goes on after midnight. They’ll play in the band slot. You know how talk shows work; why am I explaining it to you?
What will they play? New song? (No.) Box of Rain? (No.) Cover of the new Beyoncé song? (No, but not for lack of lobbying on Mickey’s part; Mickey likes songs about Red Lobster.)
TotD will now predict the future. Please welcome The Great Garnak!
Like Garcia?
And Karnak, yeah. Not that complicated a premise. Keep up.
Die.
Later. First, I gotta put on my turban.
…
Okay. I now communicate with the spirits of the dead, and the spirits of the Dead. OOOOOOoooh, that’s good communicatin’.
Just get to it.
The envelope!
…
Can I have the envelope, please?
Oh, holy shit: I’m Ed McMahon? I don’t wanna be Ed McMahon.
Someone’s gotta be. Gimme the damn envelope.
Fine.
I MAKE MY PREDICTION. “A Saudi Arabian road where many men have fallen.”
…
You gotta repeat the–
I know how it works.
–line. Why won’t you play along?
Ah, whatever. “A Saudi Arabian, blah blah.”
MMMMmmm. May your white privilege turn into yellow snow.
Okay, whatever.
I will now blow into the envelope.
FWOOO
That was some good envelope-blowin’.
Aw, thanks. Okay: “A road in Saudi Arabia where men keep falling.”
And what is the question, Great Garnak?
The answer is “What is Sheik-down Street?”
…
…
…
I hate you so much.
What?
That was a stretch.
Funnier than anything Fallon’ll say tonight.
Sure. Now: is this something you know, or a guess?
The spirits communicated with me.
A guess. Okay.
How would I know anything? No one calls me.
And here are the (rumored) Fall Tour dates. Who wants to never, ever, ever go to Salt Lake City or Phoenix, AZ, with me?
Here are the Summer Tour dates. Start doodling turtles and skeletons and roses on the nearest available envelope.
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