Thoughts On The Dead

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

As The Boy Sings Round The Fire

Phil, tell that kid his marshmallow’s done.

“I’m not the boss.”

Yes, you are. You own the place.

“I just don’t want to.”

Okay. You saw Long Strange Trip?

“You mean Long Strange Crap?”

Oh, boy. Didn’t like it?

“Not even ten percent of the story. Really missed a lot of stuff.”

Like what?

“Well, you know the old saying: no Ned, no Dead.”

That is not a saying.

“Did you know that the Dead had an incredible softball team?”

I didn’t.

“Course not! Wasn’t in that so-called ‘movie.'”

It’s a movie, Phil.

“Fake documentary. What’s that jackass’ name?”

Which one?

“Mister director man.”

Amir Bar-Lev.

“Suspicious name.”

Please concentrate. You used to be so much easier to talk to.

“Anal Bear-Claws comes to the restaurant–”

Amir Bar-Lev.

“–and interviews me for like nine hours. I’m in the damn movie for a minute. And he didn’t even show the specials!”

The what?

“The specials. I got 200 pounds of short ribs I gotta get rid of.”

Well, that would have been a bit off-topic.

“Mm, yeah. Might have distracted from Franken pontificating about West L.A. Fadeaway.”

Althea.

“They’re the same song. Listen: you got a four-hour movie, and there’s not a spare ten minutes to detail what an asshole Billy is?”

Again: off-topic.

“There’s ten minutes of Bobby looking at stuff. I gave Amal Clooney–”

Amir Bar-Lev.

“–a monologue of at least 90 minutes on the topic of Billy. I went over how he was an asshole, when he was an asshole, and to what extent he was an asshole. And evidence, too! I brought receipts.”

Why are you merely passive-aggressive with the other reporters, but just aggressive with me?

“Why would I give a shit about you? Pitchfork won’t even hire you.”

True.

SHPLORP

Marshmallow fall into the fire?

“Yup.”

Told ya.

3 Comments

  1. Speaking of Dead-related documentaries, last night I watched the puff-piece thing that someone did about Weir a couple years back. I wantr in expecting to hate it, and was pretty disappointed. The stuff about Kesey and Cassady was by far the best part, but there were other things worth seeing. Seeing Trixie genuinely well up discussing Garcia’s death and its effect on Weir was honest and touching; moreover, Weir comes off as a bit less of a flake than I expected — he’s right, he’s lived a remarkable life and experienced some remarkable shit.

    And no mention of 15-year-old summer ranch hands. No “Cowboy Bob” for miles. Praise be.

    We won’t mention any other scenes involving 15-year-olds, because, well, lawyers and stuff.

  2. They did have good softball teams! My favorite surviving vintage shirt is the GD Office Softball Team shirt from the local rec league. Only the Dead would think it was smart to make their shirts for a game played in bright sunlight in all black with a glow in the dark tiger face on it, but it looks psychedelic as fuck at shows, and of course that’s what matters in a sports team t shirt

  3. Luther Von Baconson

    May 26, 2017 at 5:06 pm

    Those might be new pudaydahs, no? Char them up nice, smother in Nice Fresh Colman’s Mustard. Char-B-Broiled Bologna accompaniment. Wash her down with Crown Royal.

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