Thoughts On The Dead

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

Box, Set


“Hey, hoser.”

Are you in a fight club?

“I can’t talk about it.”

I see what you did there.

“Great flick, eh?”

Got that right. Dave?


Why you all beat up?

I’m a boxer now.

You don’t seem the type.

“There’s an inner rage, y’know?”

Not really, no. People say lovely things about you.

“Aw, isn’t that a sweet thing for you to say. Made my day. Anyway, yeah: lot of rage under this fleece. I just focus it like a laser upon my opponents.”


“Bell rings? It’s time to get to boxing? Well: my eyes, they go over black, like a moose’s eyes go black when he goes in for the kill.”

No, they don’t. And that’s from Jaws, kind of.

“There’s a motion picture, eh?”

You betcha. Dave?


You are not fighting for money.

“Oh, yeah. I figure this Dead thing can’t last forever and, you know: I’m in my forties with a family, so I figured that professional boxing was our ticket to the good life.”

Did Billy hit you?

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Okay, champ. Want some ice cream?


Okay, let’s go get some ice cream.

“It’s just that I love the Dead so much and then one of them comes along and hurts me and it hurts SO MUCH.”

He didn’t mean it, buddy. Need a hug?

“A regular hug or a Mickey hug?”

Oh, God, what are they doing to you?

“Whatever they can think of at the moment.”


1 Comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.