Thoughts On The Dead

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

Hurt And Ernie

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“…so, Ernie’s got Weir’s nuts in one hand, and mine in the other–this was so he could properly fit the trousers, plus he would give you a big discount and free alterations–and I guess ol’ Ern’s hayfever was acting up, because he sneezed.”

“Phil?”

“And, you know: I guess it was just reflex, but the son of a bitch clamped down; Bob starts shrieking like a jackrabbit on a highway. I passed out. Thing about Creepy Ernie: man had strong hands. When he grabbed your ass, it stayed grabbed.”

“Phil.”

“Had to cancel the show that night. On the other hand, we got the pants for free. Ernie felt terrible.”

“Phil, the question was about Red Rocks.”

“Yeah: red rocks. Red, blue, purple, yellow. Our rocks were every color under the sun. Bruise like that does a lot of stuff.”

“No, Phil. Red Rocks the venue.”

“Don’t contradict me, longhair.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s better, Benjy.”

“Jay.”

“Right, right.”

GODDAMMIT, this post was supposed to be about Phil’s show in Vegas tonight. (With special Phriend Anders Osborne, whom I heard on the radio today; dude can sing.) Any of the Haight Street Irregulars in attendance or those in possession of real-time knowledge of the event are encouraged to share with the rest of us.

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