Tag: phil lesh (Page 64 of 105)

Phil welded together three or four regular-sized pairs of sunglasses to get those things.

Mickey, who is wearing a Grateful Dead shirt, bonked his head on the light fixture behind him and flew into a rage, attacking all the sconces, crown moulding, and especially the wainscoting in the room. The wood paneling didn’t stand a chance.

Bobby played the “whose elbow gets to be on top” game with Mickey for a moment, then let him win out of fear that Mickey would fly into a rage and attack the non-load-bearing features of the room.

Holy shit, Garcia invented The Shocker, didn’t he?

“Hi, there! My name’s Mrs. Donna Jean and I want to be your next state senator. I believe in deporting the unborn,  creating terrorism for the middle-class, and ruthlessly hunting down all the Cat People of Felicidae IV, Throneworld to the Felis Empire, currently infiltrating our government, media, and jam bands. Thank you, and get out the vote!”

Billy’s expression, plus the fact that he is–no joke–being restrained by two men, is news of the poorest sort for the photographer. What has he done to arouse Billy’s ire? Been in the wrong place at the wrong time? (With Billy, the “wrong place” is in front of him, and the “wrong time” is when he is conscious.*)

Keith’s dead.

*It should be noted–for safety’s sake at the least–that Billy has punched dick in states of awareness that were other than fully conscious such as, but not limited to: sleepwalking, napwalking, blackout drunk, blackout…maybe cattle tranquilizer?, infected with the mindworms of Ceti Alpha VI, turned into a zombie slave via arcane Houdon means, deep hypnosis, activation of his sleeper personality, rabies, enslaved by love, made the earthbound host of Abbadon the Unforgiving.

Clockwise from top:

• This version of Billy–the Dickpunching Caballero– was short-packed and snatched up by collectors upon hitting the shelves.
• Mrs. Donna Jean is thrilled to be there, but has to get back to gym class.
• Mickey is the living embodiment of cocaine. Like, if there were a God of Cocaine–like Zeus or Ganesha or whomever–and he had to interact with humans, that is the form he would assume: cocky, wearing a ridiculous hat, and bearing the shirt of the band he’s in.
• Back to Billy for a sec: he’s farting on Mrs. Donna Jean, isn’t he?
• Luckily for all, Keith happened to have been in the park when everyone else showed up for the photo shoot. He had been chasing squirrels, and being chased by squirrels, and pressed into service in the squirrel navy fighting off the mighty war machine of the King of the Geese, Featherbeak the Younger. Having a human on their side decisively shifted the balance of power to the squirrels and it looked like victory would be theirs, but to an average citizen–or a cop–it just looked like Keith was half-naked in the pond strangling geese and there were children there, man. He tried to explain, but then everybody showed up and Rock gave the cop a twenty and no one mentioned the incident and someone found Keith new pants.
• What the fuck, Mushroom Head?
• Nice nips, Bobby.
• No joke: Keith berseker-murdered at least eight geese; the chilling thing is that his heart beat never went above 70. In fact, his heart stopped twice that afternoon, but that’s completely unrelated to the goose massacre.
• Jesus, Garcia.