Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: phil lesh (Page 91 of 105)

You Have 30 Minutes To Move Your Cube

August 29, 2013 / / 1 Comment

TotD once again starts a new and beautiful day here at Fillmore South with an installment of Terrible Dead Art.

painting phil cubist

This piece of…art…comes to us from Reddit user Wizzo Wazzo (of the Cleveland Wazzos); we…thank…him for it.

I know Phil’s chin was never about to get him cast as RoboCop, but it’s better than this: he looks like that obese woman who gave birth to, and one day shall eat, Honey Boo Boo.

Why the mountains? Where are Phil’s legs? Where’s his dong? What’s the point of being a rock star with no dong? Plus, Phil has carved out three consecutive hours of his day and set them aside for Boner Time. Can’t have Boner Time without a boner, can you? Didn’t think about that, Mr. Artist, did you?

How’d Phil get in the cube? Can he get out? Is it a punishment: has Philbert J. Lesh been sentenced to the Phantom Zone?

Good art asks questions about the world; Terrible Dead Art does the same, but the questions are so very, very stupid.

Bob: Up And Down

August 27, 2013 / / 0 Comments

All hands are on deck of this ship of fools, fellow Enthusiasts: ideas, hosannas, and nifty artifacts streaming in over the digital transom from Friends of TotD.

This one comes from Mr Completely, head of the Interdimensional Affairs Desk operating out of the satellite office in Fillmore Northwest, where a Gore-Tex fetish is a helpful acquisition and soccer is openly tolerated.

It’s a decent show, for an ’85 right before Garcia went night-night. But the fun is watching Bobby stop merely comprehending gravity: finally he would understand it.

Watch, starts around 53:30:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y5qjwcMJnqc&t=53m47s]

So, Bobby goes to do The Lunge, which–and, being a Bobby Man as I am, this pains me to say–Bobby is the only one in the room not getting the joke on.  Bobby, the cheering you heard for The Lunge was sarcastic: I am sorry to have to be the one to break this to you. Everyone forgave you immediately after it happened, but if it had not have happened at all, people would have been cool with that, if you’re reading me on this one.

Anyhoo, the best part isn’t watching Bobby fall (which is , obviously, hilarious in and of itself), no; it’s the direct aftermath, when by means of body language and general rocking, Bobby attempts to convince the crowd that he intended to fly ass-over-teakettle to celebrate Estimated changing keys.

Who goofed on Bobby the longest for this? You’d think Mickey, right? Seems like some Mickey shit to do, but in reality: Phil still brings this up to this day; it was part of a horrific fight on the last Furthur tour. They were drinking green tea in their hotel suite. (Bobby and Phil share a room on the road; in fact, they share bunk beds.)

“This is delicious honey,” said Bobby.

“Why did you call me honey?” said Phil.

“I didn’t. I said that the honey was delicious, not that–”

“It makes me uncomfortable when you call me honey,” said Phil.

“–you were my…what’s happening here?”

…

“Hey,” Phil said. “Who am I: ‘My time coming, any day. Don’tWHAUUUUGH!’ I’m down! Bobby down, repeat: Bobby down!”

“Why do you always go there? You’re not my Garcia! YOU’RE NOT MY GARCIA!”

Mama, Weir All Crazee Now

August 27, 2013 / / 0 Comments

Phil’s matured well: he’s probably better at being old than he was at being young. Billy’s always been a complete menace, but now he gets into the movies real cheap; when he’s bored in the afternoon, he’ll go to a matinée and put his dick in other peoples’ popcorn buckets and just leer at them.  Mickey vacillates between the sublime (charity work for sick kids) and the sublimely ridiculous (trying to turn the Golden Gate Bridge into a pan flute).

bobby crazy old

It’s easy to overlook the fact that Bobby has turned crazier than a barbershop full of Puerto Ricans.

Why do you say shit like that? We’re only gonna have to–

MY OFFICE. NOW!

—have a meeting.

…

I hate you.

Change One Letter

August 26, 2013 / / 0 Comments

Phil Tesh – John’s brother, stays in the guest place out back. Watches the kids, takes care of the house when we’re gone. Good guy, glad to have him around, good guy when he’s not drinking. 4 months, knock wood: we’re proud of him. Oh, damn, is it 3 o’clock already? I have to get Simon to soccer practice. Nice talking to you. Wait: who are you? How did you get in my backyard? JOHN! COME HERE! COME HERE AND PROTECT YOUR LAND, JOHN TESH!

Donna Bean – Cousin to the lima, pinto, refried, Mexican jumping, and the Funky Winker.

Drums/Spade – That time in 79 when, after the drum solo, Phil, et al, sat at a card table Parrish had set up and played Spades for a good 35 minutes, which is impressive when you realize that Bobby didn’t know the rules, Brent was losing on purpose to get people to like him, and Garcia had snuck back into his dressing room two or three hands into the session.

Winterhand – The nickname of the groupie with poor circulation who liked giving tuggers.

Sex Luthor – All of his elaborate plans involve Superman’s butt, and doing weird stuff to it. Supes has had it up to fucking here, man.

Wall of Hound – One time, Billy got high as fuck and piled three or four dogs on top of each other and made people come and look, repeating the joke all afternoon, and then he got bored and punched one of the dogs in the dick, and I’m gonna tell you something about dogs: they have no concept of the proper deference due to a rock star, so no matter what band you’re in, if you punch a dog in his dick, he’s going to completely lose his shit on you, plus the other dogs were mildly annoyed with Billy anyway, so they joined in and all of them chased Billy around for an hour or so; he was bitten repeatedly, and let’s face it: he simply could not have deserved it more.

Knob Weir – What Bobby calls his dick sometimes.

Cob Weir – What he calls it other times.

Throb Weir – Bobby also calls his penis this.

Mickey Fart

Just A Dick Joke

August 26, 2013 / / 0 Comments

signature phil

I’m as stymied as you on this one. Sure, Phil’s signature is a bit cramped and inward-directed, but the measurement is a weird thing. Did someone need to know who in the Dead had the biggest signature?

Billy’s signature was displayed at a picnic, no matter how many times he promised he wasn’t going to do that shit anymore.

Mickey’s was nice and plump, but curved to the right.

Keith’s signature was too big, actually: it never quite got hard, instead taking on the consistency of a Nerf football left on the lawn through the storm.

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