Immediately after this photo was taken, the shirts were stolen. All the evidence points to Mickey, who can reputedly smell a free ugly t-shirt two states over.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: further
“Phil, you run a post pattern. Ginger fellow: hook and ladder. The rest of you are going to need to tell me your names and maybe some background info on our relationships. Also, whoever’s got their hand on my ass needs to remove it, please.”
Bobby bellied up to the piano, demanded a Brown Viking (that was Bobby’s name for two Vicodin washed down with Dewar’s), and the show that evening was just how you’d assume it was.
TotD is proud to present the First Annual (until I forget about it and do it again in seven weeks, or just forget about it entirely, or my flamethrower comes from Amazon, in which case: posts will not be forthcoming) Caption Contest!
I’ve had this (rather cool) shot of Garcia on my desktop for weeks now and: I got nothing. No reason, and it’s odd: usually I can pull something out of my ass with the stickiest of lubes–
Eww.
–but this one’s got me stymied. So: whattya got?
Winner gets an all-expense paid trip to see Bobby, Phil, and a bunch of ringers perform for rich people in a resort that is scheduled for completion. They can’t put a time frame on it quite yet, but the resort is most assuredly scheduled for completion. It is written down, and not just in ink: that fucker is in Sharpie.
And if you fall in my direction, don’t expect no help at all.
Right? Was that what you were thinking? “Help him, Phil. Stop singing the song that no one really likes and pick Bobby up.” Was that your first thought?
Because Phil’s first thought was, “Again?”
So cut him some slack. Also, give Phil credit for not immediately Mola Ram-ing Bobby’s liver out of his abdomen while he was down.
you don’t know how precious a stool is until the road crew brings you one.
you don’t know why all these people are in your living room.
you don’t know how it feels to be me.
you don’t know where garcia is.
you don’t know how you knew that if you ever collapsed onstage that phil would just keep singing, but you were right.
you don’t know how bitcoin works and, quite frankly, don’t wish to know.
you don’t know how easy it is to love you.
you don’t know if the doctor said one pill every four hours or four pills every hour so NOM NOM NOM PILLS YAY GO SLEEP NOW KTHXBAI.
you don’t know where that highway leads to.
you don’t know what happened to the rest of your pants.
you don’t know how hard it is to love you.
you don’t know the way to minglewood.
you don’t know the way to el paso.
you don’t know the way to mexicali.
you don’t know the way back to new york city, but i do believe you’ve had enough.
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