“I tried, Jerry. I really did. You know me: I wanna get along with everyone.”
“Don’t worry about it, man. Weir can be a little hard-headed. I remember one time we were out somewhere and he said, ‘Look at the baby squirrel.’ Except he was pointing at a fucking chipmunk. I tell him, ‘Weir, that’s a fucking chipmunk.’ Turns out he thought chipmunks grew up to be squirrels. So I set him right, but he refuses to accept it. I even took him to the zoo and had one of the animal ladies explain it to him, but he wouldn’t give in.”
“He’s steadfast in his beliefs.”
“You could put it that way, sure.”
“He said something about Hollywood. Has Bob tried acting?”
“Shit, man, he’s been going on auditions for eight years. He was real close to getting on Streets of San Francisco one time, but I don’t know if he’s cut out to be an actor. He can’t act, for one. That’s disqualifying on its own.”
“Hey, it’s not like I’m Olivier.”
“Weir’s worse. Trust me, man: I’ve run lines with him.”
“Well, there’s gotta be something he’s better at than me. Guitar, man! I can barely play.”
“Neither can he some nights. Do you fence?”
“Traffic in stolen goods, or fight with swords?”
“Either.”
“No.”
“Shit. Wait, man: is your daughter an Instagram Hottie? And, if so, how many followers does she have?”
“What the hell is Instagram?”
“It’s this thing from 30 years from now. There’s all kinds of artworks on it, and there’s chicks, too.”
“30 years from now? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Oh, right. Your band doesn’t have a time machine.”
“A time machine?”
“It’s a Sheath, technically.”
“I’m gonna see if I can find Sheila E.”
“Sure thing, Hue.”
Jerry looks so forlorn. Perhaps he thought Huey was going to bring a vast quantity of brand new drugs. Huey is unfortunately a poser.