Thoughts On The Dead

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

Happy Birthday, Billy

“Thoughts on my Ass! Look! I’m in a psychedelic butthole!”


“I had a psychedelic butthole once. Went to visit Bear at Lompoc. Keistered in some shit for him, but I sat down too hard. Don’t remember much of the next month.”

What do you remember?


Sure. Happy birthday, Billy.

“Thanks, man.”

Get any presents?



“I’m tough to shop for. It’s a ‘What do you get the guy who’s plowed everything?’ situation.”

How’d you spend it?

“With my family, of course. Real nice. Quiet dinner at home.”

That’s sweet.

“And later on, I got high and stole a firetruck.”

Not as sweet.

“Chicks dig firemen. Picked up this blonde with a black eye and a purse full of scratchers at the liquor store. Made her puke in the hat and wear it.”


“It was my birthday.”

That’s just weird.

“Hey, I’ve been banging forever, man. Gotta throw in something new every once in a while to get the juices flowing.”

That makes sense, actually.

“I cycle through fetishes. Every tour is a new thing. Quiz me. Name a tour and I’ll tell you what I was into.”

Okay, uh…The Dead in 2003.


Summer, ’92.


Europe, ’81.

“Deaf chicks.”

Deaf chicks?

“You gotta hear the noises they make.”

Jesus, Billy.

“Mickey taped a bunch of ’em. But, you know, I was very respectful of Deaf culture.”

I’m sure.

“I learned how to sign ‘I’m transitioning to anal.'”

Nice of you.

“Of course, I was usually behind them when I signed it.”

Happy birthday, buddy.

“Here’s to 69 more!”

You’re 70.

“No, I meant–”

We got it.


  1. Shouldn’t that image be in the Museum of Bad Dead Art?

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