Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
I’m not sure how I didn’t think of “Donnaroo.” It’s obvious. But, I didn’t.
Thank God for the Comment Section and their creative minds, generous natures and non-litigious temperaments.
(Speaking of which: I could make a bunch of GIFs from the show if you’d like, but I don’t know how to chop the video up into sub-15-minute chunks. If anyone knows how, then speak now or forever hold your Playin’ Wails.)
Yes, I’m posting a shot of Bobby’s Apple Watch. Sue me.
Wouldn’t it be funny to leave Josh Meyers’ watch out? It took him hours to pick out.
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Ah, fuck it:
I will give you three guesses as to which song Young John Mayer made this face during, and the answer is Passenger.
“You’re my Bobby, now.”
“What was that, Mrs. Martin-Godchaux-Ricardo-McGillicuddy-McKay?”
“Nothing, sugar.”
See it yet?
I’ll give you a second.
Found it?
…
The triumphant return of Bobby’s Fanny Pack!
Please don’t capitalize it.
It’s special.
It is not. And you know as well as I do that capitalizing things is the first step along your delusional path.
Oh, no.
Yes. Next you start making shit up about it, and then you start talking to it. And it’s getting to be weird.
Y’think?
“I can tell you what’s in Fanny Pack.”
Oh, hey, Red Metal Stool.
THIS. THIS is what I’m talking about.
You’re being very rude to Red Metal Stool.
“Put some respect on my name.”
I’m out.
nahnahnahVROOOOOOMVROOMVROOM
NRRRRRRRRRR
FWEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeee
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kasploosh
Did you just get in a semi-truck and drive over a thousand foot cliff into a river?
Yes.
“Then how is he still talking to you?”
Don’t worry about it.
Bobby didn’t feel like going back out for the bow, so he sent Red Metal Stool to do it on his behalf, much like Marlon Brando sending that fake Indian lady to get his Oscar.
Where have I seen Young John Mayer’s hat before?
Ah, right.
Someone posted this in the Comment Section and it deserves to be seen in the largest frame: this is Gordie Howe, and he did not take steroids because they hadn’t been invented yet. (Well: they had, but only Commies were taking them.) Also: what the fuck was he trying to catch with that reel? Humpbacks?
Gordie was known for a lot of things, but the Gordie Howe Hat Trick is the best: that’s a goal, an assist, and a fight in one game. (Gordie actually only achieved a GHHT twice, and he wasn’t the first guy to do it, but it was named after him because people like naming things after famous athletes.)
But did you know that there were other hat trick varieties?
Garcia Hat Trick Burn down a hotel room, green room, and dressing room all in one day.
Wade Boggs Hat Trick A hit, a run, and 37 beers in one game.
Guy LaFleur Hat Trick A goal, an assist, and a compliment on his hair.
John Mayer Hat Trick 10,000 likes on Instagram, Snapchat, and Twitter on one post.
Mickey Hat Trick Drum solo, drum circle, and a free Dead shirt.
Leonid Brezhnev Hat Trick A goal, an assist, and a good eyebrow day in one Great Game.
Sincerely, though: my thoughts this night are with all hockey fans and Canadians and especially Dead archivist David Lamieuxrningdew. He was a fan of Mr. Hockey, and he and his wife Regina named two of their septuplets after Mr. Howe. (You remember the septuplets: Gordie, Girl Gordie, Northstar, Jean-Luc, Fleece, and the twins, Billie and Mickie.)
Goddammit, stop making those faces.
“Oh, hey. We haven’t talked in a while.”
Don’t distract me with your Connecticut pleasantries. Quit it with the face-face.
“But, these are my best faces.”
Define “best,” please.
“Awesomest.”
Wow.
“Here’s the thing: the Grateful Dead has many hearing impaired fans.”
Deafheads, yeah. They’re the shit.
“Right. They can’t hear that I’m soloing, so I like to show them. Facially.”
No.
“Being racist against my face is being racist against the Deaf.”
I can’t be racist against your face. Your face is a country.
“Listen, man: I don’t tell my face what to do. Quite frankly, my face has been very good to me. If my face wants to make faces, then so be it.
Billy is rolling his eyes at you.
“Billy has been rolling his eyes at existence for quite a while now. Besides, Billy loves me.”
You, specifically?
“Might have something to do with the size of the checks he’s been receiving since meeting me.”
That’ll do it.
“This will actually interest you, seeing as how you’re an obsessive shut-in–”
Thank you.
“–I have been doing a lot of reading up on the Dead. There’s a ton of books, man. My reader’s been working overtime.”
Reader?
“Girl from USC does the coverage and sends me a two-page synopsis.”
That sounds efficient
“How do you read books?”
I read them.
“There you go: I’m way busier and richer than you. Hence: reader.”
Okay, whatever. What have you learned about the Dead?
“Did you know they had a guitarist before me?”
You don’t say.
“Fat Mexican guy.”
Harry Mendoza.
“What a guitarist! You know he was missing an arm?”
Partially. What else?
“The Summer of Love was a cookout that took place in the Grateful Dead’s backyard when they all lived together at 420 Haight Street. There was a guy in the band named Mister Pigpants, but he died on Side Six of Europe ’72. And then they built a sound system that came to life and, many years later, briefly held me hostage while various living and deceased Grateful Deads donned sim-suits to put the moves on Katy Perry. Then the band broke up, and then they weren’t broken up and Mickey was back. And then they broke up again. I think a lot of people may have died.”
Yeah, that’s pretty much the story.
“There was something called a Ned Lagin at one point.”
There was. You’re pretty much a Dead scholar.
“Yeah, I just signed a book contract to write about my time with the Dead.”
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You did?
“Yeah. Lotta money.”
Huh.
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“You okay?”
No.
You all think I’m kidding, and that the Red Rocker’s appearance at the Fillmore show was a one-off deal; I’m not, and it wasn’t.
Sammy Hagar is now a Grateful Dead.
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