Thoughts On The Dead

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

Author: Thoughts On The Dead (page 3 of 737)

Hop In The Hack


“Yes, sir.”

“The time draws nigh.”

“It does, sir.”

“I can’t draw nigh. I can do a bunny, but not nigh.”

“I’ve seen your bunny, sir. You capture the ears quite well.”

“Could’ve been an artist, Jenkins. Painted. Sculpted. Or performance art. I could have thrown poop at people and had museums give me money for it.”

“You’d be a Downtown sensation, sir.”

“Giant racket, art. Only reason society tolerates art is that it gives homosexuals something to do in the afternoon.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“I enjoyed pottery. It was a concrete task. You started out with a lump of clay and you ended up with a differently-shaped lump of clay. And the wheel. You could stick smaller children on it and spin them until they knew their place in the world. I had such fun in college, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How much are kilns these days? It would fit in Carruthers’ office if I fired him.”

“Sir, we need to talk about the poster.”


“Yes, sir.”

“We just did this!”

“Oh, sir, we’re still at the very top of the hill. We’ve got some skiing to do before we make it to the lodge.”

“You paint a word picture, Jenkins.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We’re both artists.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We should wear smocks.”

“The poster, sir.”

“Poster! Jenkins, I had a brilliant idea.”

“Is the idea a boat that goes underwater? Because I’ve told you that that’s already been invented a dozen times.”

“No, for the poster.”

“Yes, sir.”


“Continue, sir.”



“Nothing. Nothing at all. Pure white. Less a poster than a poster-sized piece of glossy paper.”

“Uh-huh. Why, sir?”

“Because I think we have a fanbase dopey enough to buy it. Let’s do a social experiment.”

“No, sir.”

“And we’ll bet.”

“Sir, the relationship between the Grateful Dead and their fans is a sacred one. We’re not KISS.”

“If were in KISS, I’d make you be Peter.”

“That’s hurtful, sir.”

“I’d be the short one with the afro. Big Funky. Remember him? He used to have a parrot on his shoulder that would do cocaine with him? That was one rock ‘n roll parrot, Jenkins.”


“The parrot’s name was Little Funky.”


“Died in a whitewater rafting accident, I believe. Well, the cops said it was an accident.”

“The poster, sir.”


“We need to put something on it. Can’t do a blank poster, sir.”

“What about boobies? Are the kids still calling them boobies, Jenkins?”

“Yes. The kids are. The adults aren’t.”

“Let’s go with that. Glamour shot of some garbanzos. Big floppy ones.”

“I don’t think that’s really on message, sir.”

“Make ’em tie-dyed.”

“No, sir.”

“Jenkins, you know what I’m about to demand of you.”

“That I blast my eyes, sir?”

“Oh, yes.”

“How did that feel, Jenkins?”

“Awful, sir.”

“Good. I only wish that you were twins so I could make both of you blast your eyes.”

“The poster, sir.”

“Poster! Oh, I don’t care.”

“I thought you wouldn’t, sir, so I took the liberty of commissioning a student from a local art college to draw this one.”

“Which school?”

“The Throckmorton School for the Artistically Disinclined.”

“Delightful. Make sure he throws in a bear. And make sure the bear looks like Chewbacca with Downs syndrome.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And fire Carruthers.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alabam’ Don’t Give A Damn

Another development involving the U.S. Senate race in Alabama.  At least one person in our viewing area received a robocall seeking more damaging information about Roy Moore.  Here is the text of that voicemail message received by Pastor Al Moore in Creola.

“Hi, this is Bernie Bernstein, I’m a reporter for the Washington Post calling to find out if anyone at this address is a female between the ages of 54 to 57 years old willing to make damaging remarks about candidate Roy Moore for a reward of between $5000 and $7000 dollars. We will not be fully investigating these claims however we will make a written report. I can be reached by email at, thank you.”

Pastor Moore says he’s baffled about who might be behind the message.  He said he sent a response to the email address provided but it came back undeliverable.  We also tried the email address with the same result. – “Curious Robocall Seeks Damaging Information On Moore” 11/14/17 



“Hello, there. Hi. How are you? My foot is killing me. This is, ehhhh, Izzy Itskowitz calling from the Daily Forward. Shalom. We are looking for information about that horrible Roy Moore, and we don’t care if it’s true or not. We’ll pay! You know we have the money. Anyway, call us back or don’t. No big whoop.”

“What in tarnation?”

“Early, who was that?”

“Some damn robot. Jewish one.”

“Robots is Jewish now?”

“Guess so.”

“Do they have to get circumcised?”

“Well, I do not know, Jamie-Lynn. I swear you got the sense of a toothbrush up an armadillo’s ass.”


“If that’s the Jewish robot again, ask him.”

“Hush, woman. Yello?”

Que pasa, gringos! This is Jose Sanchez from Telemundo! Ai ai ai! We are willing to pay mucho dinero for anyone willing to go on the record about this pendejo Roy Moore. We can’t pay as much as El Washington Post, but it’s still pretty good money just to make something up. We’re gonna gut this gabacho pig! Call me back!”

“That didn’t sound right.”

“Robot Jews again, honey?”

“Robot Mexicans this time.”

“Oh, no. They’ll put everybody out of work.”

“Is supper ready?”

“Yeah, if you want your chicken raw.”

“That backtalk’s gonna get you a backhand.”

“You ain’t got the balls, Early.”


“Just cook supper, okay? Yello?”

“Yo. Dis here be Rufus Green. We be handin’ out fat stacks of cheddar for information ’bout this Roy Moore honky. Ooh, I hates me some honkies and I is gonna strings dem up! You give up dat 411 and we pays you da long green. I works for da Nation of Islam and also I is a rapper and kneel when dey plays dat Star-Spangled Banner. Get at me, dawg!”

“I’m pretty sure that was a white guy doing a voice.”

“More robots?”


“Well, what do they want?”

“They perpetrating to find dirt on Roy Moore. Say they’ll pay for it.”

“What? You get those ethnic robots back on the phone, Early Watkins! You know the judge grabbed your cousin’s bosom when she was 15.”

“Oh, so did the whole football team. Katie Mae wasn’t no good girl.”

“Don’t be like that, Early.”


“I’d rather talk to this robot than you. Yello?”

“HeeeelOOOOOOOOOooo! This is Bruce LaCoque calling from HOOOOOLLLLywood and we need your help, you sweaty piece of sausage. We heard that this Roy Moore was tricking with underage girls, and that’s wrong! So wrong to do that with girls. If you’ve got any juicy gossip, then call back, but better do it quick. My husband and I are about to adopt our third Christian child so we can teach them about sodomy. Toodles!”



“There’s tomfoolery about.”

“Whatever you say, Early.”

Kid Can’t Read At 17

Hey, Garcia. Whatcha doing?


You love that.

“It ain’t the pits.”

Did you pick out all the symbols for the fretboard?

“Kinda. I said ‘Put some bullshit on it,’ and Dougie ran with the concept.”

What does it all mean?

“I don’t speak hieroglyph, man. Ask an Egyptian.”

Oh, I know one. Hey, Oteil?

“You may call me Opteil.”

Like Ptolemy. Nice.

“The joke only works in print.”

Still, it’s a good one. Anyway, can you read hieroglyphics?

“Are you accusing a black man of being illiterate?”

HIEROGLYPHICS. Totally not an offensive question.

“I’m fucking with you.”

It’s just that I got Miles Davis calling me racist all the time now. I’m overly sensitive.

“Can’t have that. Worst part of racism is the temporary discomfort it causes white people.”

So true. So fucking true.

“Yes, I can read hieroglyphics.”

How’d you learn?

“Rosetta Stone.”


“I’m on fire tonight.”

You are. So, what does Wolf’s fretboard say?

“Huh. Lemme see.”



“Oh, sure.”



“It’s a recipe for spaghetti bolognese.”

Was not expecting that.

“Nope. Hey, what did the Ancient Egyptian student say to the spelling teacher?”


“How many birds in pharaoh?”

Killing it, man.

“I feel good in this outfit.”

It suits you.

Good On Ya, Australia

It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve Irwin!

Maggie Haberman Receives A Late-Night Phone Call From Whom You’d Expect


“Just one night of peace. Just one…yeah, what do you want?”

“Hi. We need two pies, one with pepperoni, and an order of cheesy bread.”

“Hi, Don, Jr.”

“Is this Papa John’s?”

“No, it’s Maggie Haberman.”

“That’s the weirdest name for a pizza place.”

“I’m not a pizzeria, Junior. I’m a reporter for the New York Times.

“The lying, failing New York Times?”

“Ohhhh, right. You’re fake news.”

“Sure. Busy day, huh?”

“Everybody’s stupid. No one knows what’s going on. My FRIEND Julian was trying to help my dad make America great, and the media is making, like, this whole thing about it like it’s a federal case.”

“It is literally a federal case, Junior.”

“WHY? I didn’t do anything wrong. Maggie?”


“Do you have any pizza at your house you could bring over?”


“I’m so hungry.”

“Junior, tell me about your relationship with Julian Assange.”

“Julian Asswich is my friend.”


“Hasaaaaaan CHOP! Remember that? From the Daffy Duck cartoon? Big Ay-rab guy with a sword. Do you know they throw buildings at homosexuals?”

“Concentrate, Junior.”

“Julie’s awesome.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“We met on Twitter. He’s my tweep.”

“Don’t ever say that word again.”

“And we, like, send each other memes. That guy? That guy memes.”

“Uh-huh. What else?”

“Couch tour.”

“Don’t you bring couch tour into this. Leave couch tour out of it.”

“Okay, so you tell me what the problem is. He sends me a link to a site.”


“A lying, failing fake news site that wants to say fake things about my dad.”


“And he gives me the password to the admin page. So I log in, right? And it’s one of those sites with the About page where they have little bios for everyone who contributes? So, I changed all their info.”

“To what?”


“I called them all gay.”

“Good one, Junior.”

“Even the ladies!”

“Wow. You’re like Lenny Bruce.”

“I don’t know who that is. Is he a winner?”

“Not really. Listen, Junior: that’s a crime. What you just described is a crime.”

“Calling people gay? I swear that political correctness is killing this country. We need to build a wall.”

“To keep out political correctness?”


“Uh-huh. The crime is hacking. Hacking is a crime, Junior.”

“Pssh. Hacking’s not a crime. Hacking’s fucking awesome. Besides, I covered my tracks.”

“How so?”

“I switched my browser to incognito mode.”

“Yeah, you covered your tracks.”

“I’m fucking Archer, man.”

“You are. What else did you guys discuss?”

“Chicks. Star Wars. The gym. Chicks.”

“You said chicks twice.”

“That guy fucks. That guy memes, and that guy fucks.”


“Oh, and he would give me tips on when he was going to drop some heavy information. Like, a heads-up. And then I’d tell my dad. And, like, my dad looked at me with…I don’t know. I’ve never seen that expression on his face before.”


“I guess. He didn’t slap me in front of people like he usually does.”

“All happy families are alike, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

“Wow. That’s deep. Is that Kanye?”

“No. Junior, you keep getting yourself into deeper and deeper trouble with these Russians.”

“I wasn’t talking to the Russians this time. I was talking to Julian from Wikileaks.”

“I stand by my statement.”

“It’s just all fake news! The Democrats and the Deep State and George Soros and Hillary Clinton are the ones who collude. No collude from me. They have so much collude.”


“Do you know what collude means?”

“I keep meaning to look it up.”

“Junior, you need a lawyer.”

“My dad’s lawyers said that I didn’t.”

“That’s because they’re setting you up to take the fall.”

“My dad wouldn’t do that. He told me I was his favorite. I mean, he was looking at Ivanka when he said it, but I was in the room.”

“Right. Junior, I’m going to bed. Try not to fuck up any more than you already have.”

“Okay. Forget the pizza. Could you make me a sandwich and bring it by?”


Without Love, It Ain’t Much

To paraphrase the old saying about Ginger Rogers: Sheila plays those timbales as well as Tito Puente, but in an evening gown and high heels.

TotD’s Predictions For The Upcoming Lord Of The Rings Series

  • Those stupid little hobbles.
  • Fucking wizards or some bullshit like that.
  • Bunch of white assholes walking someplace.
  • Mountains with dumb names.
  • Woody Harrelson for some reason.
  • Some little idiot runs his idiot mouth about second fucking breakfast and all the nerds go YAAAY.
  • Halfway through the series, the Washington Post runs a story about how Treebeard the Ent has been masturbating in front of shrubs.
  • Magic fucking sword.
  • Mystic fucking jewelry.
  • Silly names as far as the eye can see.
  • Ooh, a prophecy.

The Secret Secret Correspondence Between Donald Trump, Jr., And Wikileaks

9/12/16, 10:23 am Congratulate DJT on his speech the other night. Very inspiring, especially the section about locking Hillary Clinton up. I HATE HER! That is one rough-looking lady. Not like DJT’s wife. Congratulate him on that, too.

9/19/16, 8:30 pm You ever watch 2 Broke Girls? Great show. Smoking hotties. The blonde is prettier, but the one with the big tits has such big tits.

10/3/16, 4:11 pm Have a great idea for DJT. He should call her a cunt. DJT’s popularity is based on his ability to “say what everyone is thinking.” What else does everyone think when they look at HRC but “What a cunt?” Maybe the crowd should chant it.

10/3/16 ,4:17 pm A good chant would be “Fuck that cunt! Fuck that cunt!” Very punchy.

10/8/16, 1:09 pm Got something I’d love if you could retweet. www.компьютерныйвирус.com. If you don’t want to retweet it, just click on it.

10/12/16 3:21 am What’s the weather like? I have forgotten what it feels like on my pale skin and creepy hair. Noticed you haven’t gotten back to me. I know you’re busy, but not cool.

10/12/16, 4:11 am Let’s skype so you can watch me pound off.

10/12/16, 4:12 am Meant to send that to someone else. Sorry.

10/17/16, 8:33 pm Another idea for DJT at the debate. Announce that he will grant Assange a pardon and name Assange to the Supreme Court.

10/28/16, 4:11 am Let’s skype so you can watch me pound off. This is for you, Junior.

10.31/16, 10:51 am Hey, my DM’s are all wonky. Did you send me something? I thought you might have. Let me know.

11/8/16, 11:48 pm WE DID IT.


So Happy Together

Well, this is awkward.

“Hey, Thoughts on my Ass. Tell Phil he can munch my nads.”


“Hey, dickhead. Let Billy know that I can smell his asshole from here.”

I don’t know when I turned into a marriage counselor.

“Billy doesn’t believe in marriage counselors. He prefers defense attorneys.”



I’ll leave you two alone.

They Want To Lead The Glamorous Life



Do I want to know what’s in the sack?


Is it–

“Not a human.”

–a human? Okay.

“Just let this one go, boss.”

It’s gonna be tough.

“Suck it up.”

Mickey’s raccoons?

“Let it go.”


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