You can’t be here. This area needs to be clear for Mickey’s drums and bullshit.
“Me Mickey. Am to Mickey.”
Still not getting it.
Godammit, he bought another dwarf.
Is that your name or “please don’t hurt me?” Never mind. It doesn’t matter.
“I am to Mickey now. Mickey play.”
Is he treating you well, at least?
“Food. Bed. Sun. Drum. Mickey play.”
“Mickey dog chase.”
MICKEY! A WORD!
This is the least trustworthy you’ve ever looked.
“That hurts me, man. Why this aggressive stance and posture and emotion and, you know…just the feeling of everything that–
You need to stop petering out.
“Sure. So, what’s up?”
Did you buy a human being?
“Legally, he belongs to the drum. But I bought the drum, yeah.”
Where’d you even find him?
Okay. You have to set him free.
“But I get such a good sound out of him.”
You’re actually playing the little fucker?
“Soft mallets only.”
Okay, listen: something else I need to talk to you about.
“Those sea-lion carcasses that keep showing up in schools?”
“What did you want to talk about?”
That was such a bad guess that I won’t count it.
“The primal thaumaturgy that was Drums?”
“Want the number for a good thumb-piano guy?”
“I don’t have any extra dead shirts, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Nothing weird about that pic?
“Hate to keep talking about Dead shirts, but I am not wearing one. That’s pretty weird.”
This is how you want to play this?
“That may be a Photoshop.”
What about this one?
Nuh-uh. That is a sailor’s cap which, it should be noted, you are wearing incorrectly; you have donned it for Bobby’s song Lost Sailor because you do not like that song and felt it necessary to editorialize the fact while you were half-heartedly playing the tune.
“You can’t know that for certain.’
Billy threw you under Furthur.
Yeah. I mean, Jesus, Mick: did you bring that hat all the way from California.
Here’s more evidence of your foul deed. LOOK AT IT:
With malice aforethought, Mickey. And, how do you not know how to wear a sailor’s cap?
“I was in the Air Force.”