Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: ronan farrow

Cryptid Development

September 24, 2018 / / 3 Comments

We’re still doing the hat thing?

“You’re still alive?”

Why can’t we be buddies? Bobby’s nice to me.

“That’s because he has no idea who you are. As far as Weir’s concerned, you might be one of his daughters. Man’s been befuddled since the Mayaguez sank.”

Going for the deep historical reference. Nice.

“Fuck off. Haven’t I 86’ed you from TXR?”

Yes.

“Then why are you here?”

I’m a rebel, man.

“You’re a twat.”

Phil, why do you have to be so…wait.

“What is it now, pest?”

I sense fuckery.

MY WAY RINGTONE NOISE

Yup. Fuckery.

“I don’t have to get this, but I want to.”

…

“Terrapin Crossroads, where the shrimp scampi is 20% off this week.”

“Hi, am I speaking to Phillip Lesh?”

“It’s not Phillip. It’s Philbert. Who is this?”

“This is Ronan Farrow.”

“Hm. Short hair works for you.”

“How exactly are you people seeing me?”

“Don’t worry about it. Are you calling for Holly Bowling tickets?”

“I am not.”

“Did Holly Bowling’s Hat sexually assault someone?”

“I don’t even think that’s possible.”

“You don’t know that hat. Complete asshole. Shocked it’s not the Secretary of Agriculture or something.”

“No, I actually have some questions for you. Can you fill me in on what precisely the ‘Hostility Suite’ was?”

“I could, but you’re gonna be too busy running from the draculostrich.”

“The what?”

“SHIT!”

HANDSOME MAN RUNNING AWAY NOISE

“Little punk doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.”

Good work, Phil.

“I’ll send one to your house, too, dickbreath.”

Always a fun time visiting.

Farrows Of Neon And Flashing Marquees Out On Main Street

September 24, 2018 / / 3 Comments

“Excuse me, what is this now?”

I need to talk to you some more.

“Why am I wearing a tux?”

Because you should always be wearing a tux. Maybe a hat.

“I’m not wearing a hat. Listen, loser: I told you I was dropping the Grateful Dead story. It’s not worth the bullshit.”

You only saw, maybe, 2% of the bullshit. This place is like a bullshit iceberg: most of it’s under the waterline.

“Fine, fine, I’m done with the story. So why are you still bothering me?”

I wanna know what you heard about the Dead.

“Should I just e-mail you all my notes?”

Yes, absolutely. That would be so much easier.

“You’re not good at recognizing sarcasm, huh?”

In my defense, it doesn’t come through in print unless you’re real heavy-handed about it.

“Uh-huh. Where exactly am I?”

Ronan, are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?

“Uh-huh. I’m calling my lawyer.”

HANDSOME MAN DIALING NOISE

“You’re on the phone with Michael Cohen.”

“What now?”

“This is Michael Cohen. I’m your lawyer now.”

“You are not. You are, like, the exact opposite of my lawyer in every possible way.”

“Ronan, as your attorney, I advise you to rent a very fast car with no top and flee the country.”

“Why would I do that?”

“All my other clients need to, so I just assumed skipping town would be the best plan for you, too.”

“Uh-huh. Hold a sec?”

“I got free time.”

“You got time. I don’t know about the ‘free’ part. Just hold.”

“Sure.”

…

“Hey!”

Moi?

“Can you at least explain the rules of this universe to me?”

I was hoping you knew. You’re much smarter than I am.

“What was it you wanted again?”

What did you dig up about the Dead?

“So many teenagers. Roy Moore only got banned from one mall. Billy got 86’ed from dozens. I mean, some of those were for mannequin-jousting, but most were for chasing sophomores around the food court.”

Yeah. It was a different time.

“That’s what they all say.”

They weren’t that bad.

“On several occasions, the Grateful Dead pulled their bus straight up to the local high school.”

They were probably there to mentor the youth.

“With their penises. The Grateful Dead mentored the youth with their penises.”

Whatever. Decent human beings don’t make good music.

“What about Dolly Parton?”

With the exception of Dolly Parton, decent human beings don’t make good music.

“This was fun, but I don’t like you and I’d like to be on my way.”

Sure. Hey, Ronan? Great work on the Kavanaugh article today.

“Thank you, but I was only one of the reporters on that story. Jane Mayer was my partner and deserves as much credit as I do.”

Well, if she wanted people to notice her, she should have been Dean Martin’s kid.

“I’m leaving.”

One for the road?

“Fuck you.”

Black, White, Blue, Black And White

September 23, 2018 / / 1 Comment

See, now, this is the type of company you should be keeping, John.

“I didn’t ask your opinion.”

Sooooo much better than your fashion friends.

“My fashion friends are great.”

They deserve a bullet apiece, John. All of your fashion friends should be executed for heterodoxical leanings and crimes against the state.

“When did you become a Bolshevik?”

I read a book about The Weavers and BOOM: Communist.

“Wow. The American government was right to be worried.”

Apparently.

STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT RING-TONE NOISE

“Is that your phone?”

Nope.

“Goddammit.”

…

“You’re on with John.”

“Hi, John. This is Ronan Farrow.”

“My God, it’s like you were born to wear that tux.”

“You…you can see me?”

“Don’t worry about it. What can I do for you, Ronan?”

“I have several questions about the things you’ve been doing with your penis.”

“Oh, sure. Can you hold on a sec?”

“Mm-hmm.”

…

“Hey!”

Dude, you’re fucked.

“Is he prettier than me?”

THAT’S what you’re worried about?

“A little.”

You’re such a mess of a man.

“I got him beat on the chin. My chin is clearly more chiseled. But, Christ, those eyes. Should I do the colored contacts thing?”

Dammit, I can’t believe you’re making me do this. Gimme the phone.

POP STAR HANDING PHONE TO IDIOT NOISE

Ronan the Barbarian!

“Very original. Never heard that before. Is this the asshole who zapped dinosaurs into my apartment?”

Yes, it is.

“Well, I got rid of them and now I’m back on the Grateful Dead story.”

Sure, cool.

“FORE!”

“What the hell was that?”

CLONK!

“Did a golf ball just hit me?”

“Hell of a shot, Gleason. Right off his pretty little noggin.”

“Ten bucks says you can break his nose with your five-iron, Mr. President.”

“I will, uh, take that wager.”

…

“Hey!”

Mr. Farrow?

“This is just fucking weird, man.”

This is nothing. This is the skin; we haven’t even gotten to the pudding. It gets so much worse.

“I’ll do a different story.”

Ooh, how about outing Lindsey Graham?

“That’s not a story. The story would be if he were straight.”

You’re good, Ronan Farrow. Now go away.

Deny Everything, Bob

September 9, 2018 / / 3 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Bobscotch.”

Not a thing.

“Oh, yeah. See, I’ve been playing these songs for, uh, ever and I gotta keep ’em interesting.”

So you play a child’s game while you’re performing?

“It’s not a child’s game. Would a child wear this hat?”

No, Bruce Dern would wear that hat.

“Underrated Dern. Most folks go with Laura, but I’m a Bruce man.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Hold on, I gotta get this.”

…

“Yello?”

…

“Uh-huh.”

…

“Really, now?”

…

“Uh-huh. Could you, uh, hold the line for a sec?”

…

“Hey, you.”

Me?

“Yeah. Guy on the phone says is name is Clarence Darrow. Wants to ask me a few questions.”

I truly doubt Clarence Darrow is calling you, Bobby.

“Roman Sparrow?”

Ronan Farrow? Is that the guy’s name?

“Hold, please.”

…

“He says it is, yeah.”

HANG UP THE PHONE, BOBBY.

“He sounds like a fan. Actually, he sounds like Frank Sin–”

HANG UP THE PHONE, BOBBY.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

What? No! I don’t wanna–

ROCK STAR HANDING A PHONE TO AN IDIOT NOISE

Ah, Christ. Haloooo?

“Hello, this is Ronan Farrow. To whom am I speaking?”

Holy shit, you look like your dad.

“Woody Allen?”

…

…

…

Yeah. Sure.

“Mm-hmm. I was calling to speak to Robert Weir, late of the Grateful Dead about some allegations made against the organization.”

Rowboat–

“Don’t call me that.

–there’s no story here. Trust me on this one. Whatever may or may not have happened was all consensual and in the spirit of highjinks and larks.

“Well, I’m just going where the facts take me. Can you put me back on with Robert, please?”

In a second. Lemme just ask you something: do you have a Time Sheath?

“A what?”

It’s like a time machine.

“So why don’t you just call it a time machine?’

Because “machine” implies technology, and the Time Sheath runs on magick.

“Was there a ‘k’ at the end of that word?”

Ronan, do you have a Time Sheath?

“No.”

The Grateful Dead does.

“Who the fuck would trust those morons with something that powerful?”

See, there’s the journalistic instinct that is serving you so well. I have no idea how they got the Time Sheath, but they did and holy crap the things someone with even the tiniest bit of imagination can do with it! For example, it could be used to strand a nosy nelly in the year 1322. You can do all sorts of things with it. Capiche, paisan?

“I’m not Italian.”

Uh-huh. Do we understand each other?

“Are you threatening me?”

Yup. Stay away from the Grateful Dead.

“Or what?”

SHWAZATHOOM!

Or that.

“THERE’S A FUCKING STEGOSAURUS IN MY OFFICE!”

Do we understand each other?

“FINE! FINE!”

Awesome. Big fan of your work, but stay the fuck away from the Dead.

“HOW DO I GET RID OF THIS THING?”

A meteor might do the trick.

The Stacks

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