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

Tag: soup (Page 2 of 3)

Reasons To Contribute

  1. None of your donation will be redirected to any political candidates. Mutant Mussolini or Lady Macbeth: neither of them will get a cent you entrust to my care. When you shop at a large chain, or a local shop, you can’t be sure that part of the money you spend there won’t go to a politician you find odious. You can be sure of that here.
  2. If you’re reading this, then you are both a good American (even the Canadians) and environmentally conscious. Well, the Donate Button not only stimulates the economy, but does it in the most ecological way possible. The carbon footprint is like that of a rich Chinese lady from the past.
  3. It’s what Harambe would have wanted.
  4. Can we be honest together, you and me? Just for a second? Leave our egos at the door and just be real? Really real? Okay, here goes: what’s better than me on the innertubes? Daily? Just one guy? Who? I’ll wait.
  5. Still waiting. And, you know: not to be a dick. But, still: who? A single person doing what I do as well as I do it?
  6. What is it exactly you do?
  7. GET OUT OF HERE! I’m being immodest and the post is numbered. You can’t be here in the numbers.
  8. Have you ever succeeded in getting out of your own way?
  9. No.
  10. You many continue being unpleasant while begging for money on the internet.
  11. Thank you.
  12. Some Enthusiasts, one would assume, are very rich. One would further assume that these wealthy folks fall into two categories. There are those two feel guilty about their riches, and I offer to take some of their money so they might feel less guilt. Then there are the other rich people, who have no embarrassment at all about their loot, and I say to them: good for you, pal; give me some.
  13. If you were TotD, and I were an Enthusiast, then I would click your Donate Button. That’s kind of a contract.
  14. Remember when I saved your life in Nam, man?
  15. Jesus would not give me any money, but Satan surely would, so if you are a member of the Church of Satan: there’s your reason.
  16. (An aside: adults should not be in the Church of Satan. It’s the try-hardiest religion there is, and if you’re a member, you should have to walk around with a flashlight under your chin making spooky faces and going, ” Oogie boogie,” at children. None of the component parts of Satanism are inherently dopey–wearing black, and orgies, and a negative reading of the Golden Rule–but when you put them together, it’s a bit performative. Also, Anton LeVey was a carny, and I mean that not in a pejorative sense or to put him down. But the guy was a rube-fleecer.)
  17. Speaking of Jesus and money, He said that it would be easier for a rich man to pass through the eye of a camel, than for a needle to become a fisher of men. What about that, huh? You gonna disagree with Jesus?

pope bus.jpg

“Who disagree wit-a da Jesus? You tell-a da Pope!”

Oh, Goddammit.

“Hey! Watch-a  da language!”

Sorry, Your Holiness.

“I-a forgive you. But-a next time? I wash-a you mouth out wit-a da Pope.”

Ew. Pope Francis, no offense, but what are you doing here? I’m in the middle of a thing.

“What’s-a you thing?”

Begging.

“I know-a da begging. Catholic Church invent-a da begging. You get-a more money if-a you throw in some threats.”

The Enthusiasts will not believe me if I tell them they’ll burn in eternity if they don’t contribute.

“We been getting away wit-a dat for two thousand-a years now.”

It’s a good racket.

“Is-a da best. You should start-a da religion. Like-a da Elmore Leonard”

L.Ron Hubbard, I think.

“Or you should write-a da crime novel. Like L. Ron Hubbard.”

Your Holiness, why are you on a bus?

“Benedict wrecked-a da Popemobile.”

Oh, no.

“He-a totalled it! He-a no keep-a his eyes on-a da road! On-a da phone!”

Please don’t say–

“He play-a da Pokemon!”

–he was playing Pokemon. Man, that thing is big.

“You should-a see da Sistine-a Chapel. No one’s-a looking up!”

That’s not good.

“St. Peter’s tomb is-a now a Pokehub. Is-a disrespectful.”

You’re right. But again: why are you here?

“I come-a to bring-a da peace. We have-a da talks. President-a Katy and-a da skinny girl and-a da fat Chinese one and-a da boy in-a da tablecloth. We-a gonna hash-a this out.”

This amuses me.

“Si, si. Is-a very silly. Pope-a Francis on-a da bus of peace!”

I have faith in you. You know where you’re going?

“Driver know-a da shortcut.”

Precarious?

“Yo?”

Gainfully employed, I see.

“Always.”

“Okay, okay. You go back to-a da begging.”

Y’know, I think I’m gonna call it a night, Pope Francis.

“Si, si. Is-a late. Good-a night, TotD.”

Good night, Pope.

“Night, TotD.”

Good night, Precarious.

“Good night, man.”

Soup? What the fuck?

“Yoko threw me off his bus, man.”

Good night, Soup.

“Always, man.”

Baby, You Can Pledge Drive My Car (Or Bus)

bobby suit tie 80s

“How long is this going on for?”

The telethon?

“Yeah.”

When people give enough money.

“Uh-huh. And, uh, how much is that?”

Just read the teleprompter, Bob.

“Okay. Was that Mike Tyson?”

Just read the ‘prompter, Bob.”

“Sure. Uh, okay. Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgahnagl fhtagn.”

Stop reading the ‘prompter, Bob.

“That didn’t sound right.”

No.

paul mac bus

“Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“Feeling’s come back to me limbs, Bob. Right as rain again. I was…I was going to be on me way.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Y’know, one of the first things the Dead did, all of us together as a band that wasn’t practicing or whatever? We went to see Hard Day’s Night. You guys. And, uh, we walked out of that theater and that was it. That was it. No way back, y’know? And that was you. Thanks for that.”

“It was me pleasure, Bob. I’ve met them all and I think I had the most fun with you.”

“Huh. Yeah. Oh, uh, sorry about the dosing and the magic and all that.”

“What point is meeting the Dead without some of that, Bob?”

“There you go. Anyway, don’t tell Jimi Hendrix, but you’re my new best friend now, Sir Paul McCartney.”

“Thanks, Bob. Oh, were you doing something?”

“Raising money for a lonely lunatic.”

“How’s it going?”

“Not well.”

“All right then. Cheerio, Bob.”

“See ya. Hey, you should check the bus before you get going.”

“Why?”

“You got anything but tofu, man?”

“I saw Soup skulking around the thing.”

“Heeeey, man.”

Dose Me On The Bus

further bus portland

Soup, get out of there.

“Heeeey, man.”

You’re living in Further?

“I’m not living here, man.”

Good.

“Just staying for a little bit, man.”

Not as good. Is this thing the original bus?

“You know those Japanese temples that have been there for a thousand years, and they’ve burned down and been rebuilt five times, but yet are still the same temple, man?”

Yes.

“Like that, man.”

Tour’s over soon, Soup. What are you doing this fall?

“Volunteering, man. Going out with Hillary, man.”

Yeah?

“She’s not liberal enough for me, but a presidential campaign’s got a shitload of buses, man.”

Practical thinking.

Bravo, Your Home For Fashion

bobby jm andy cohen tiedye

“Look at this shirt, Bobby.”

“Wow.”

“You look surprised.”

“When I saw the shirt, I understood what Oppenheimer felt like watching the Trinity test.”

“Should we take another call?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Caller, you’re on with Bob Weir and Josh Meyers.”

“Andy!”

“Caller?”

“Heeeeeey, man.”

“Oh, hey, Soup.”

“Soup!”

“Your name is Soup?”

“I’m Soup, man.”

“And where are you calling from?”

“The dressing room down the hall, man. I’ve moved in, man.”

“What? Is that…is he…?”

PRODUCER WHISPER

“He’s really in there? So get him out.”

PRODUCER WHISPER

“What do you mean there’s a talking PA system in your way?”

Everyone’s A Winner

Generated by  IJG JPEG Library

“So, where was I?

“Right: Les Paul had killed two teenaged underground wrestlers in the basement of a hardware store in Staten Island. I believe they were both Italian-Americans, but it was not a racially-motivated crime. Those kids should’ve known: you step in the ring with Les, and you enter his dojo. Dojo can only have one sensei, y’know? Those are the rules.

“So, uh, Les let ’em have it. He gave one of them a How High the Moon. That’s a body slam, but Les would pick people up with his ass. Me and Phil were just flabbergasted. Well, I was. Phil would have been, but he, uh, had befriended an off-duty firefighter and was in the parking lot doing donuts in a ladder truck.

“And then Les, you know: recognizes me. So now I gotta help him get rid of the corps–”

“WHASS THIS ALL ‘BOUT? SOMEBODY GIVIN’ OUT AWARDS? AH WILL ACCEPT THESE GARLANDS. AH DESERVE THEM.”

“Elvis, can you gimme a min–”

“ON BEHALF OF MY SAINTED MOMMA, WHO AH CALLED MAH SATNIN, AND MAH WAYWARD DADDY, VERNON, AH HUMBLY ACCEPT THIS AWARD FOR MAH GREATNESS.”

“It’s not for you, man. I won the–”

“EVER SINCE AH WAS A YOUNG BOY, AH WANTED TO BE THE HERO OF THE COMIC BOOK, AND WEAR CAPES AND GET AWARDS. AH AM DOING BOTH TONIGHT AND IT IS A SPECIAL OCCASION. TO HONOR MYSELF, AH WILL NOW PERFORM KARATE.”

“Precarious!”

“Yo?”

“Have you been standing there the whole time?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Sure. Can you do something about the King?”

“Like what?”

“Well, you know, man: are you on the road crew or not? What happens when people start screwing around?”

“Violence.”

“There ya go.”

“I’m not tackling Elvis, Bob.”

“You tackle people all the time. It’s a function of the job.”

“He’s Elvis, Bob. Just not gonna do it. Besides…”

KICK

PUNCH

JUMPSUIT

“…he knows karate.”

“Do something. I’ve got a lot of story left: me and Phil end up taking the bodies of the teenaged wrestlers to Studio 54 and throwing them at Steve Rubell.”

“I love that story, boss.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“AH SEE MANY PEOPLE IN THIS TENT WITH FINE HAIRCUTS, AND IT MAKES ME THANK GOD FOR AMERICA.”

“Get this jackass out of here.”

“How?”

“No idea, but if you can’t do it, then get someone who can. Wally’ll do it.”

“I dunno about that. They both do the all-caps thing. It would be confusing.”

” All of you have ruined my award. I’m going to my tour bus.”

“Oh, oh, ohhh. No. Not the bus. Maybe not right this second? Give it a minute?”

“You better not tell me that Soup got in my bus.”

“Soup got in my bus?”

“Little bit.”

“MotherFUCKER.”

“YOU WILL REFRAIN FROM FOUL LANGUAGE IN THE PRESENCE OF THE KING.”

“Ah, fuck you, Elvis.”

Potato, Soup

bobby les paul speech rando

“Friends, Paul family, randos, members of the jam-band press,  Soup–

“Heeeeey, man.”

“–festival-goers who wandered in thinking this was the yoga tent,and all assembled here: good afternoon, and thank you for this, uh, very nice award. On the off-chance that Mickey doesn’t integrate it into his drum kit, it’ll look real nice in the rumpus room.

“Les Paul was an innovator. Multi-track recording, and overdubbing, and the catalytic converter. You know those extendable back-scratchers you can buy at the register of 7-11? That was Les Paul. Guy had what you call, um, a febrile imagination. Built his own house, did the wiring. Hell of a guy.

“But the guitar? Hoo, boy. That’s a thing. People really like it. I got a couple. Real nice ones, too. Sunburst ’58. Black one, think it’s a ’63. Played that one onstage a little. Nothing against the guitar, but you could just walk into a store and buy one. You know: I’m a Grateful Dead. That’s not how we do business. Good little guitar.

“Oh, uh, those comics that come in Bazooka gum? Les Paul invented that. And he drew Bazooka Joe. Y’see: Les couldn’t draw faces, so he gave Joe the ol’ turtleneck design that became so iconic. Got a lot done, Les Paul.

“I remember a conversation I had with my best friend Jimi Hendrix. Jimi said–”

“Hey, Bobby, man?”

“–that he wanted to join the Dead, and I said–”

“Bobby, man?”

“–that I’d have to ask Garcia, and…Soup, c’mon, man. I’m being serious here.”

“Me too, man. Real quick, I swear, man.”

“What?”

“Can you get the rando to put his potato salad away, man?’

“Okay, yeah, that’s a rough view.”

“Right, man?”

“Deal with it.”

“I’ll be in your bus, man.”

“Soup, God love ya, if you get within 100 feet of that bus, you’re getting tackled.”

“I’ll be in the Earthroamer, man.”

“Sounds good.”

Bozo, Bus

hp photosmart 720

The Grateful Dead didn’t do the tour bus thing; we know this because the one time they got on a bus (two of them, to be precise) for two months, the vehicles became mythic and legendary and had elaborate theologic goofs concocted about them. Had they actually traveled in the 1965 Gillis pictured above that some shady car museum in Illinois had displayed and actually tried to auction off for two hundred grand, we all would have known about it.

Did Butch Patrick not know one Deadhead? (Did I forget to mention that the shady car museum is owned by TV’s Butch Patrick?) Just looking at this thing is all the evidence that you need: the Dead knew an artist or two, and that pathetic flag on the side would not cut it. The Dead would also not name a bus Sugar Magnolia. It would be named after an inside joke.

Let’s take a closer look at that informational poster leaning against the bus in the most professional way the curator could afford:

Screen Shot 2016-06-12 at 1.22.16 AM

I don’t even know where to begin. Sugar Magnolia was written in ’69, so that means the bus was named using the Time Sheath or that it didn’t have a name for two years; that’s not how human beings work. Either something gets a name immediately, or it never gets a name.

Also: Garcia hated The Doors, and Jim Morrison in particular. (The man had good taste.) Garcia didn’t do much shit-talking in interviews, but he went out of his way to insult The Doors. This was not an opinion that would have lost him friends in San Francisco, but it stands out as the only (?) time in 30 years of being asked about other bands that he insulted one.

On the other hand, Bobi was best friends with Jimmy Hendrix, so maybe this is the real deal.

Whether or not (most likely not) this piece of shit belonged to the Dead, one thing is certain: it was not their “tour bus.” The Dead flew. The Dead flew so much that they opened their own travel agency. (Swear to God.) There were cars and vans and–I’m sure–the occasional rented bus, but for the most part the Dead took planes from one show to another, for a whole bunch of reasons.

First of all, it wasn’t four guys and a road manager: there were up to seven people just in the band, and the it was never just the band. You would order one Grateful Dead, and 40 hairy motherfuckers show up. It would take a convoy of buses and this is a bad idea from a logistical standpoint. You’d rather move a Grateful Dead around the country than move several Grateful Deads around the country. Besides the inevitable sudden disasters, an internecine war would have developed.

Second, and here’s the more interesting reason, is that airports in the 70’s were not the militarized malls they are today. Security was almost non-existent, and predictable, as opposed to what you might find on the highways. Every small-town sheriff along the tour route would have loved to string up them Dead boys, but the airport cops didn’t give a shit, as evidenced by the spate of hijackings in during the decade.

(Fun fact for the younger Enthusiasts: hijacking airplanes used to be funny. Almost every comedy sketch set on a plane would end with the punchline of a random passenger revealing a dynamite vest and proclaiming “I’m taking this plane to Cuba!” Fun fact for all: my cousins were hijacked. Swear to you. They were going from Jersey to Florida and ended up in Cuba. Spent the night in a hotel with armed Communist guards outside and got shipped back to the States the next day. It’s a treasured family story.)

The bus is no longer featured on the website, and the links to the auction are broken, so I can only assume that someone informed TV’s Butch Patrick that whatever provenance this sucker has, it isn’t the one he was sold. This was some tour rat’s bus, and I can only assume–

“Can you keep it down, man?”

–that he…Soup?

“Heeeey, man.”

How many vehicles are you living in?

“Four or five, man. They get funky and I gotta get a new one like a hermit crab, man.”

Awesome. Was this your bus?

“Not was, man. This is my bus, man.”

No, it’s apparently owned by TV’s Butch Patrick.

“Who, man?”

Eddie Munster.

“Oh, yeah, I sold it to him, man.”

Did you tell him it belonged to the Dead?

“I didn’t tell him it didn’t, man.”

Aw, Soup. That’s not right.

“He was a custie, man. He should have known that I was bullshitting, man. Not my fault if a custie doesn’t know he’s a custie, man.”

That does make sense.

“You know how many pairs of jean shorts ‘Bobby gave me’ I’ve sold, man?”

You’re more capable than you let on.

“I’m Soup, man.”

A Rhino, Serious

IMG_4245(1)

Hey, Rhino. Whatcha doing?

“Who’s that? I can’t see you.”

Should I come closer?

“I still wouldn’t be able to see you. Terrible eyesight.”

Have you thought about LASIK?

“I tried that.”

It didn’t work?

“When I went in for my consultation, I destroyed the entire office.”

You’re too big to fit in a waiting room.

“Yeah, you know: megafauna. No big deal on the eyes, though. I can smell up a storm.”

Of course you can. Look at that nose.

“That’s my horn, jackass.”

Right, sure. Although, I think the proper term for it is “tusk.”

“I’m going to ignore you, even though I have excellent hearing.”

It’s like you just read your own Wikipedia article.

“Nah. Not so big on the reading. Tiny brain. Enormous skull, but a tiny brain. It’s suspended in there like a chandelier in a ballroom.”

That seems odd.

“Not if you think about it. Evolution pares away anything unneeded; if you weigh a ton with inch-thick armor all over you and eat grass, you don’t need to be that smart.”

Just how dumb are rhinos?

“Almost unanimously for Trump.”

Wow.

“Man’s got a lot of horn.”

Uh-huh. Let’s get back to you: what’s your horn made of?

“Medicine.”

Really?

“Yeah. Chinese are right. Just compressed medicine.”

What does it cure?

“Depends on how much you want to spend.”

You’re fooling with me, Rhino.

“I am. I was using irony to illustrate what complete fucking monsters your entire species is.”

We’re not the best.

“No. Who’s the lady taking pictures?”

Lillian Monster.

“Bobby’s sister!? Shit, no way! Lemme get Soup.”

You know Soup?

“Soup!”

“Heeeeey, man.”

We’re done.

Trixie And The Wolf

TG and The Wolf

“I bid $420, man.”

Soup?

“Hey, man.”

What are you doing here?

“Is this not The Price is Right, man?”

No.

“I still wanna bid $420, man.”

Stop that. Trixie is not a spokesmodel and Wolf is not a Chevy Cruze with California emissions.

“Was it the grey hair, man?”

What?

“That caused The Price Is Right producers to not hire Trixie to be a spokesmodel, man?”

Trixie Garcia never auditioned to be a spokesmodel for a game show.

“She should, man. Look how she’s holding the guitar: she’s a natural, man.”

You’re not wrong.

“Plus, I feel like spaying or neutering my pets, man.”

Get out.

“See ya, man.”

Call first next time.

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