Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: rando (Page 2 of 11)

And What Will Your Niece Be Having, Sir?

July 19, 2018 / / 5 Comments

Ma’am.

“Talk to me, bud.”

Hey, Garcia. You layin’ your rap down in hopes of snarin’ a fox?

“That was Pig.”

Oh, right.

“I’m just making a new friend.”

I like her haircut. There was a plan there.

“You’re just kinda off, aren’t you?”

Little bit. Cop a feel.

“Man.”

Squinch on that booble.

“What?”

Check on the meat. Sometimes, the meat is rotten. Gotta check on the meat.

“Don’t talk to me in front of girls anymore.”

Probably a good call. Dude?

“Are you still here?”

I’m in the process of going, but dude? Dude?

“What, man?”

I don’t think she’s wearing a bra.

“What are you, 12?”

She’s free. She can live. She can love. She maybe can’t run without holding herself down or that would hurt, but she can live and love. She’s easy in herself, Garcia, and in the fact that she’s a woman. She’s probably a Wiccan. Ask her about her menstruation; it’s holy to them.

“You said you were leaving.”

I say lots of things. CUP HER YUMBOMBS.

“Get out, man!”

What about the First Amendment?

“Doesn’t apply here.”

It should.

Where The Oceana Breezes Blow

July 11, 2018 / / 9 Comments

Jeff Chimenti is whispering to Billy, “Sun’s going down, big guy. You’re getting real tired.”

OR

Is that a Real Housewife? If so, from which program/location? Whose flag does this Real Housewife pose under?

OR

When Josh stands in the middle, he looks like he’s the tall candle in a menorah.

OR

Mickey is befuddled; he has been thoroughly fuddled. Mickey has gone through the process of fuddling.

OR

Josh.

“Don’t call me that in front of the band.”

They’re the ones who called you that in the first place.

“What?”

You grabbing ass?

“No.”

Dude.

“No.”

Duuuuuuude.

“No.”

…

…

…

Dude.

“I’m grabbing ass.”

I knew it! I knew it, you grabasstic sumbitch!

“When you’re famous, they just let you do it.”

There’s my guy.

OR

Is there a wind machine? This is a fancy party, indeed, if there’s a wind machine on the blue carpet. (Blue for the oceans. Nowadays, the red carpet can be whatever color you want it to be, which I despise. A blue red carpet is self-contradictory, like vegan beef jerky. We don’t need forced diversity in carpets, Hollywood.)

OR

Bobby?

“Yuh-huh?”

You furious?

“Yuh-huh.”

Any reason?

“I’ll kill you, boy.”

All right, then. But what about here?

“I’m in a better mood here.”

Looks like it. What was all that before about? You frightened me, Bobert Weir.

“God bless ’em, but the randos get to you. 53 years of randos. Y’know, think about it: who in show business has been exposed to more rand than me? Maybe Duke Ellington. He, uh, played until he was 106 years old.”

Not true.

“His trombonist was 98. He could still blow.”

You are exaggerating.

“Okay, fine, yes. Get, uh, get the musicians off the greens, please. And, uh, bring Mr. Gleason another carton of Pall Malls.”

“Kind of you, Mr. President. I were you? I would’ve shot those hippies.”

“Y’know, Gleason, you’re right. Bebe? Where’s Bebe? Someone get Rebozo and tell him to bring his pistols.”

Excuse me. Excuse me, President Nixon. Mr. Gleason. What is going on here?

“You, uh, couldn’t come up with an ending to the post.”

“Terrible. You’ll never make it in show biz, kid.”

Pop Music

July 10, 2018 / / 1 Comment

“I don’t understand. You just don’t shave?”

“You just don’t shave.”

“No shaving at all.”

“And then the beard comes in? All by itself? I don’t need to import it from Japan?”

“No importing at all. Natural process.”

“Is everyone noticing me and my wild antics here? I mean: look at me.”

“What about face-washing? How does face-washing get affected?”

“Hugely, my dude. It’s a whole new world of facial shampoos and grooming products. You’re gonna love it. Y’know how your hair has leave-in conditioner? Your beard gets leave-on conditioner. You’re in for an education, son.”

“It’s a baby outfit, but it’s got the Public Enemy symbol on it. The juxtaposition, right? So much jux!”

John.

“Now what if I stopped shaving my balls? Would a beard grow there, too?”

John.

“It would. It totally would. Thick and manly.”

John.

“It’s just the last symbol you would expect on clothes of this cut, so that makes it adventurous.

SNAP

“John, I don’t feel too good.”

“Tell my family how I was dressed.”

…

“Dude, did you just Thanos my friends?”

I did, yes. You know I hate your friends.

“But you disintegrated them.”

No, no. Trapped them within the Soul Stone. Totally different. So, how ya doin’?

“Stop killing my friends.”

Get good friends. Like Chapelle. Get more friends like Dave Chapelle. How about Shucky Ducky?

“No.”

Alonzo “Hamburger” Jones.

“Stop it. Can you bring my friends back, please?

Absolutely not. Wander around the store and let me make fun of people minding their own business and enjoying life.

“I hate you.”

Wander!

“A rando got me.”

I see that. What’s with that dude? Face says 12, but the chest hair says 35.

“I don’t know. I’m not gonna engage.”

Good idea. I now believe that rando is an evil marionette brought to life through hoodoo.

“He has no smell whatsoever.”

Get out of there, man.

“I’m gonna hide behind a clothes rack.”

“I’m hiding behind a clothes rack.”

You probably could have picked a better spot.

“Gotta be honest: always lost at Hide And Seek as a kid.”

Makes a lot of sense. Can we talk about your shoes?

“Dude. We can always talk about my shoes.”

“These are not the shoes I’m currently wearing.”

But they are of a kin, are they not, to the shoes you are currently wearing? Military-inflected and doodled upon?

“Yes.”

What the fuck, dude? I used to draw on my Converse during math class, but what the fuck?

“Fashion is art.”

Sure, you’re right, but these are boots someone drew titties on. Oh, Jesus, is that a peace sign?

“No, it’s an inverted cross to secretly signal to the other members of the Celebrity Illuminati that I’m one of them.”

…

Oh, well, that’s cool as hell, then.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

I won’t. Promise. Who’s in charge of the Celebrity Illuminati?

“Well, it was Johnny Depp. That’s why he’s going through all this shit right now. Someone’s staging a behind-the-scenes coup.”

Wild. Is Taylor Swift in the Celebrity Illuminati?

“In it? Dude, she’s most likely the one behind the coup. And if she takes over, my life is gonna get complicated.”

I am learning so much.

“Damn it.”

What’s up?

“Randos.”

That guy looks like third place at a David Spade lookalike contest.

“Only third?”

There are some downright amazing cos-spaders out there. It’s an art. Have you ever been to Spadecon?

“You’re making all this up and I’m going outside.”

“I’m outside.”

You look unhappy.

“Getting cockblocked out here.”

She’s nice.

“I wanna put it between her eyebrows.”

I’m with you.

“But there’s a Hangabout.”

You want me to get rid of him?

“You kinda owe me after zapping my friends.”

True. Okay, take cover behind the hottie.

“Gotcha.”

SNAP

“Duuuuuuuuude. John Mayer and me, duuuuude!”

“He’s still here.”

Wow. Lemme try the Shwazzathoominator. Seriously, stand back.

SHWAZZATHOOM!

…

SMOKE CLEARING NOISE

“Duuuuuuuude. From Dead & Company! John fuckin’ Mayer, man!”

“You’re losing your touch.”

Holy shit. I’m kinda baffled. Fuck it: Code Black.

“Code Black?”

I’m opening up the photo editor. Gimme a sec.

“Sure.”

“YOUR BODY IS A WONDERLAND” BEING CASUALLY WHISTLED NOISE

I’m back.

“Well?”

I can’t erase him from the timeline. He’s a Permanence.

“Can you at least get him in the other room?”

No.

“What about putting his tongue back in?”

He may as well be God, John.

“You never know what you’re gonna find at the pop-up store.”

No, you do not.

Dead & Company 2049

March 5, 2018 / / 6 Comments

“I’d like you to meet my secret, Mexican family.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. None of these people are secret or Mexican. These people are whiter than an envelope factory.

“You’re right. This is Team Mayer.”

You should make some trades. I think this team needs a rebuilding year.

“Nah. We’re a finely-tuned machine. All the way on the right there is Stubby Maybelline. He’s my personal croupier.”

Why do you have a personal croupier?

“Never know when the bones are gonna call.”

Fine.

“Next to him is the Human Post-It.”

I don’t get it.

“Those aren’t tattoos; they’re, like, notes I wrote to myself. ‘Pick up milk, bang Demi Lovato’ that sort of thing. Sometimes, I just doodle on him while I’m on the phone.”

Doesn’t seem cost-efficient.

“And next to him, of course, is Pete Ulrich.”

Who’s that?

“Skeet’s younger, far less talented brother.”

Sure.

“Jumpsuit Jean, the Jumpsuit Queen.”

Obviously. And her purpose is?

“Jumpsuits.”

Right. What about the beardo?

“That’s Not Your Father’s Gorton’s Fisherman.”

I’ll say.

“No, that’s his name. Not Your Father’s Gorton’s Fisherman. Gorton’s did a rebrand of their corporate logo and they’re paying me a million bucks to cross-promote it.”

Nice work if you can get it.

“Plus a  truckful of fishsticks. You know the saying, ‘They’ll back the Brinks truck up to your door?’ Well, they did, but the truck was full of breaded cod or whatever the fuck it is.”

I’m going to go back to ignoring you until the next time you’re a Grateful Dead again.

“Cool. See you Friday in Boston.”

Dammit.

Weathered And Lace

December 18, 2017 / / 6 Comments

You look happy.

“Well, you know, it’s been 63 straight years of being polite to randos. Loses its luster after a while.”

Sure. That lady looks like she drives a Mercedes SUV.

“Throw a rock in Marin and you hit, like, a dozen of her.”

Not a lot of diversity?

“No, there’s Diversitea.”

Tea shop?

“Yup. But, uh, only white people go there. And work there. I will say that Te-Nahisi Coates’ new book is the talk of the town.”

Oh, people are reading it?

“I didn’t say that. They’re talking about it.”

Makes sense.

Begun, These Rando Wars Have

November 18, 2017 / / 0 Comments

Don’t you say–

“Rando War!”

–Rando War. Goddammit, Oteil. You’re above this.

“I’m not.”

Okay.

“You would not believe how many more randos I attract since I started singing lead. They’re like moths, and I’m a bug zapper.”

Are you electrocuting randos to death?

“Not randos. Not plural.”

You’re really becoming a true Grateful Dead, Oteil.

“I’m settling in.”

“Oh, is Rando War back on?”

 


“BOOM, I just won Rando War.”

There are no winners in a Rando War, Jeff Chimenti. Just death. And randos.

“But look how many I have!”

Venture not down this path, Jeff Chimenti.

“Kiss my balls.”

Everyone’s a dick tonight.

“Quit whining, motherfucker. Don’t bring your bitch shit to a Rando War.”

Oh, not you, too.

“Rando War is over. I won. Tell all them white motherfuckers to go home and kiss on each other.”

That’s Wynton Marsalis.

“Motherfucker’s a rando to me.”

Ow.

“I’m a cold motherfucker. You see my shirt?”

I do.

“That shit’s the truth.”

None of this makes any sense any longer.

“Whose fucking fault is that?”

True.

“You can pick off my cheese plate if you want.”

Thank you, Mr. Davis.

“It’s the little moments of humanity that make Rando War such a fucking tragedy.”

If you say so.

The Gentlemen Compare Locks Of Hair

August 26, 2017 / / 2 Comments

Hey, Phil. Rando?

“Obviously.”

He looks friendly.

“He actually smells friendly, too.”

What does friendly smell like?

“Stew simmering on a pot, maybe a little essence of vanilla.”

If you say so. Hey, you see Fogerty?

“I’ve been successfully avoiding John Fogerty since 1970. Got it down to a science by now. No one avoids John Fogerty like me.”

Not a fan?

“You ever hear him get interviewed?”

Yeah.

“Well, that’s when he’s on his best behavior. Just the most miserable son of a bitch you’ll ever meet. Only thing worse than him was that band of his.”

Creedence was bad?

“Imagine the Three Stooges, but malevolent. I think the bass player was only partly human. Looked like something that escaped from Dulce Base. Used to rub up on foreign cars. Unpleasant in every way.”

Run Through The Jungle’s still a pretty kick-ass tune.

“Whatever.”

You should dye your hair like his.

“Pass. I think he uses house paint.”

I’d think about it. You go chestnut, it could take five years off.

“So I’d only look 72? Fuck off.”

I love our give-and-take.

“No, seriously: fuck off.”

Okay.

In Which Sam Cutler Gets A Rando, And Meets A Friend

July 27, 2017 / / 3 Comments

You are a sharp-dressed man, Sam Cutler.

“I cut a bella figura, I do.”

Got yourself a rando?

“‘E looks well enough. Big bloke.”

You dose him?

“I confess that I did.”

You’re going to see Phish?

“Me mates’ve been bothering me about it. Say the lads have a bit of th’ oul’ spark to ’em. Plus since ‘at movie th’ Hebrew geezer directed came out, everyone’s recognizing me.”

And you like it?

“I confess that I do.”

You deserve a little praise.

“Spot on. And some rumpy-pumpy.”

That, too. Wait. Your mates? Who are you meeting?

SCREEEEEEECH

“Hey, Sam!”

“Oy, Sleepy Batman!”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“When’s the showYAAAAAWNstart? I got time for a catnap?”

“Course, mate. Go kip out in the back of me van.”

I do not approve of this, and I’m sure–

IS SLEEPY FUCKING BATMAN MEETING REAL PEOPLE NOW?

–the other guy’ll hate it.

The Faster Weir Goes, The Rander Weir Gets

June 15, 2017 / / 5 Comments

“Look what I got.”

Randos?

“The randiest. Although, this guy to my left keeps telling me go home and get my shinebox.”

Yeah, don’t murder him. It comes back to bite you in the ass.

“I’ll try. But, you know, if he keeps disrespecting me my hand will be forced.”

Don’t do it.

“Forced.”

Hey, Bobby.

“Yup.”

Don’t make it obvious, but check out the piece on the guy to your far right.

…

“Oofah.”

Right?

“Garcia’s was better.”

What?

“Jer wear a toupee. From about 1972 onward. Went to the same guy as Gene Simmons.”

This is not a fact.

“Oh, yeah. Real human hair, too. Parish used to get it for him. Sometimes, there’d be chunks of scalp still attached.”

“We doing group randos now? You got nothing, Weir.”

Not randos, Phil. That’s your band.

“This can’t be my band. Where are my children? I made my band with my own balls.”

Ew. And it is definitely your band. That’s Melvin Seals.

“Which one?”

The one that looks like his name should be Melvin Seals.

“I still think I’m winning Rando War.”

These aren’t randos!

“Agree to disagree.”

“They aren’t, Phil. Now this is a rando.”

No, Amir Bar-Lev. That is Michael Moore.

“He smells.”

I would imagine.

“And he won’t stop talking about Bernie.”

I would also imagine. You should get away from him before he rubs off on you.

“His bad luck?”

No, he physically rubs off on people. On the other hand, you might want to stand next to this fucker forever.

“It’s a good contrast, right?’

Totally. Your face has, like, bones in it.

“He just asked if I had any candy.”

Okay. Abort, abort. Get away from Michael Moore. The man makes awful movies and his voice makes me envy the Deafheads.

“But I look so good.”

Find an ugly fucker who makes good movies.

“Hmmm. Wait, I got it.”

“BOOM.”

Dude, you killed it.

“I rocked this shit.”

Why wasn’t the ’81 European tour covered in Long Strange Trip?

“Al Franken made me cut it.”

Oh.

There Are No Conscientious Observors In Rando War

June 13, 2017 / / 3 Comments

Hey, Parish. Rando War?

“Fuck, yeah. Gonna smoke this joint, take a piss, and break this fucker’s arm.”

Why?

“Prostate’s the size of a volleyball. I go every 20 minutes.”

Not the pissing. Why are you gonna break the rando’s arm?

“Old time’s sake. I don’t get to hit anyone anymore.”

Y’know, you’re overstating the Dead crew’s violence just a bit. You guys weren’t Led Zeppelin.

“Nah, shit no. We weren’t just goons. We didn’t hit people for no reason.”

Right.

“It’s just that people were always giving us reasons to hit them.”

Well, this rando hasn’t.

“Give him a minute.”

Please don’t hurt randos, Parish.

“It’s a Rando War. Gonna be some deaths.”

Deaths?

“Injuries, injuries.”

“Not true, love. There have been and always will be a great deal of mortality in Rando War, innit? Nature of the gimmick, right?”

Oh, I know that accent.

“‘Ello, love.”

What is happening here, Sam Cutler?

“Oi am making Rando Love, not Rando War.”

None of this makes sense.

“Also, Oi just dosed you. Ta.”

Ta.

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