“Hello, this is Phil. Phil Lesh. Of the Grateful Dead.”

“Weir here.”

“Hey, Bob. You guys doing Kimmel, huh?”

“Yeah, hold on: sending you a pic.”


“Jesus, Bob: how many pictures of Billy’s dick do you have?”

“No, that’s Mickey.”

“Right. Jewish.”

“I got it in here somewhere.”



“I’m giving the kid bunny ears.”

“You take this picture with a flip-phone?”

“No, no: that’s Kimmel’s green room. Very few pixels in there. Odd.”

“Huh. What are you gonna play?”

“Some Dead songs.”

“Well, yeah.”

“That’s not why I called. We had an idea: what if we all fight each other?”

“Did you see the Captain America movie, Bob?”

“I had it explained to me, and the premise is sound: Dead splits up–”

“We did that.”

“–and fights. We could do it at the Garden, or your restaurant. Whichever.”

“I don’t even understand this one.”

“Me and Mickey vs. You and Billy.”


“Me and Billy vs. you and Mickey.”


“Me and Ratdog vs. you and that bunch of beardos you play with.”

“There’s still a Ratdog?”


“Bob, we’re not Civil Warring.”

“What if we just let the drummers fight?”

“What do you mean ‘let?’ They usually had to be stopped.”

“Still have to be.”