Can you see the thick layer of cover-up around Bobby’s left eye? The makeup artist did an excellent job, but if you know what’s there, you can see it.
This was the Dead’s first big TV spot in a while, and Bobby wanted to make the most out of it, even though Letterman was already giving them two interview segments and two songs and letting him do his not-quite-coherent magic trick.
Bobby wanted to twerk.
“No, Bobby. That’s a bad idea and here’s why,” Garcia said. He laid out his arguments (Bobby was famously mediocre at booty dancing, cultural misappropriation, twerking wouldn’t be invented for thirty years or so) logically and with kindness. Garcia paused in between concepts, and made sure Bobby was with him, all the way through. It was an impressive show of sophistry and rhetoric, made all the more impressive that Garcia nodded off twice during it, setting fire to the couch both times.
Bobby digested it, thinking–sometimes out loud–and asking questions of Garcia to pin him down on specific points, such as the fact that they did seem to have become unstuck in time. Garcia said he had noticed that too, but quickly decided that they had all become toys in the hands of a bored god and that Bobby shouldn’t worry about it.
Then, Bobby stood up suddenly, spun around and started twerking the shit out of Garcia. And this is just so far beyond simply tugging on Superman’s cape: this is using Superman’s cape as a jizz-mop. Beyond the pale doesn’t cover it.
But Billy’s not there and Parrish has stepped outside, so Garcia has to take care of this himself. It must be dealt with.
Garcia don’t twerk.
So, he popped Bobby. Not all that hard: Garcia didn’t summon the Power Cosmic like he could have, but it left a nice mark. For the next week, the sound of Bobby shrieking, “I FELL DOWN, ALL RIGHT!?” and storming out of the room echoed up and down hotel hallways.