Thoughts On The Dead

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

Category: Uncategorized (page 5 of 774)

A Terrible Analogy And A Wonderful Cover

Covering Stevie Wonder is like taking your dick out next to John Holmes: you’re just going to embarrass yourself. Jose Feliciano, however, does not bring shame upon his family’s genitals. Check it out.


This is all the rehearsing that Furthur did.



“Bobby, stop calling me that.”


Even backstage, Mickey doesn’t get a real drum set.




Jeff Chimenti is a Shorts Die-Hard, isn’t he? Everybody knew one in college: the guy–it’s only guys that do this–who ALWAYS wears shorts, no matter what the weather or occasion. Usually, though, they’re fat guys or at least stocky. Jeff Chimenti is the skinniest SDH I’ve ever seen.


“Yeah, I’m gonna need the white people to stop encircling me, please.”


The fellow with the camera is Justin Kreutzmann–you know Justin–and he’s putting together a documentary about rock and roll drummers called Let There Be Drums. You can read about it, and see something called a sizzle reel, right here.

FUN FACT: For the past few years, Justin has been an editor on The Bachelorette.

Meeting Of The Minds

Butterscotch. Tiddlywinks. Foot.

“What are you doing?”

Are you not listing words on your little board?

“Words that have something to do with my lecture.”

Lecture? You’re a lecturer now?

“I know, right? It’s like: where does he find the time in the day to master so many forms of performance? Guitar, singing, acting, Instagramming, and now I’m a teacher. I share my gifts with the world.”

Are you calling herpes a gift?

“Please go away. I’m busy teaching these kids how to write a hit song.”

Do you still remember how to do that?

You know, cuz it’s been a while.

Since you wrote a hit song. Like, a decade or so.

You not talking to me?


Fine. Talk to him.


“Nope. Not picking up.”

Pick it up.



Pick it up.




Pick up the phone.

“I hate you.”

Yeah, yeah.

“You’re on with John.”

“Hot Dog Dick! Long time no talk!”

“Ah, fuck.”

“Guess who back? Back again. Un is back. Tell friend.”

“Don’t quote Eminem at me.”

“Slim Shady real hip-hop. No like Lil Xan. He disrespect hip-hop.”

“Why do you know who Lil Xan is?”

“Follow on Twitter. So much beef.”

“Why are you calling?”

“Back on top, Hot Dog Dick! Kim Jong-Un in news again! Didn’t even need to blow up nuke or kill college student this time! Gonna meet Dotard. Take selfie.”

“I don’t think the meeting’s actually gonna happen.”

“Will happen. Take selfie.”


“Name is Un. Only Korean name go backwards. Children know this.”

“–no one is going to let this meeting take place.”

“I got ace in hole. Gonna talk Annoying Orange into it.”


“He on other line. I three-way.”

“Do NOT three-way me!”

“I three-way. You there?”


“Hot Dog Dick, is Putin. Putin, is Hot Dog Dick.”

“My name is John Mayer.”

“Nyet. You are Hot Dog Dick.”

“Haha! Putin call you Hot Dog Dick.”

“Okay, Putin have to go. Big election coming up. Have press conference.”

“You’re gonna take questions from reporters?”

“Nyet. Vant to gather them in one place so is easier to murder them.”


“Hot Dog Dick, I got favor.”

“I’m not doing you any favors.”

“Need new clothes for big meeting. Want to look sharp. Like Joe Jackson. You remember Joe Jackson, Hot Dog Dick?”

“Of course I remember–”

“Sang is different for girl. So true. Is very different for girl.”

“Please let me–”

“Help Kim Jong-Un, John Mayer. Need fancy outfit. Need be flossing.”

“You want me to help you pick out clothes?”

“Yes. You best at clothes. Much style. So fashion.”


“Yes! Kim Jong-Un and Hot Dog Dick have storyline again!”



Vox Populus

“C’mere, lemme sing you that birthday song.”

Oh, no. I hate that song.

“Nah, don’t be blamin’ the poor song! You jus’ hate gettin’ sung AT. Supposed to be sung TO!”

You got a point.

“The ol’ Pig generally does.”

You are simply the hairiest beast in the world.

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

It was one.

“Way I see it: you ain’t pretty like Weir, you gotta get yourself a look! Foxes are fascinated by the strange and unusual. My bouffant is downright entrancin’ to your average fox!”

I can see that.

“Brings ’em in close, makes ’em woozy with confusion and lust! Plus, I ain’t showered for a few days, so pheromones is just pourin’ off!”

Then what?

“And then I crawl ’em!”


“It’s like the song says: the ol’ Pig’s got the ways and means!”

You sure do.

“Happy birthday, you ol’ bastard.”

Happy deathday, you ol’ Pig.

Here Wolf

Why do..

…all these…

…baby werewolfs…

…look so fucking much like Bobby?

(I don’t know what the fuck this is, so maybe you can tell me.)

Sign Your Name

Just about sums it up more than anything I could ever write, dunnit?

Why Are These Two Men Laughing?

“I’m not gonna tell you to slow it down again, Josh.”

“Was I going too fast?”

“Oh, yeah. You were, uh, not holding your horses at all. Free horses, man. I don’t know if you know this–”

“You spent a summer on a ranch.”

“–but I spent a summer on a ranch, so I know my horses. Gotta be held. Otherwise, you know, you got chaos.”

“We don’t have chaos, Bobby. We’re killing it.”

“The fans have grown used to Dead & Company tempos, and this sudden shift might discombobulate them.”

“I think they’ll be fine.”

“They’ll be relieved of their comboble.”

“‘Comboble’ is not the root word of discomb–”

“Don’t lecture me, Josh.”

“I let the first one go, but I have to correct you this time. I’m not Josh. In fact, there is no Josh.”

“There’s no Josh? Am I manifesting my imaginary friends again? That happens occasionally.”

“John. The man’s name is John. And I’m not him. I’m Trey.”

“Are you the one who plays basketball?”

“No, that’s Bill Walton. I’m Trey Anastasio. I played with you for the Dead’s 50th anniversary.”

“You did?”


“How’d it go?”


“Sounds right. Now, listen: whoever the hell you are, and however the hell you got on stage: slow the hell down or I’m gonna do attack yoga at you.”


Phoreheads Are Better Than One

“What’s going on here?”

“Forehead time, boy.”

“Oh, okay. How long does it–”

“Rub. Back and forth. Get some friction going.”

“I don’t understand what’s–”

“Nogginate me, Treyvon.”

“That’s not even a–”

“Gimme the nog! Gotta have it!”

“Are you finished?”

“I’m just happy to be out of the restaurant.”


“Now, remember: no matter how many times I tell you to slow down, keep playing fast.”


No One May Follow

Speaking of Jane’s Addiction: this is the best Dead cover of all time. No snark or sarcasm about Best EVAR or whatever. This is the shit; listen to it all the way to the end for the Big Show Biz Finish.

These Jews Are Worse Than Gary Cohn, But Just Barely

  • Bernie Madoff.
  • Hymen Roth.
  • My aunt, Helen. (The woman is a pig.)
  • Whoever decided there should be seeds in rye bread. (Why the fuck would you ever choose seeded rye breaded over seedless? Seeds are just edible splinters; all they do is get stuck in your teeth, and the little fuckers get way up in there, too.)
  • Judas Iscariot.
  • The Jew broad from Goodfellas who wouldn’t go out with Tommy alone. (She was racist against Italians. Can you believe that?)
  • Auschwitz kapos.
  • Meir Kahane.
  • Mayim Bialik. (She’s horrendous.)
  • Hal Gadot, Gal’s brother who likes to make himself vomit on children.
  • Harvey Weinstein.
  • Woody Allen.
  • Those Hasidic assholes who attack women in shorts.
  • Leopold.
  • Loeb.
  • Julius Rosenberg.
  • Ethel Rosenberg,
  • Freshy Greenblatt.
  • Did you google Freshy Greenblatt?
  • Yeah, I made him up.
  • But good on you for doing your own research.
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