“Hey, Heavy Cheddar. Nice to meet you.”
“Close enough, I guess.”
“Heard you beat up Josh.”
“No, no. John. I beat up John.”
“Who’s John?”
…
“Yeah, I beat up Josh.”
“That’s great. We’re not allowed to, so thanks.”
“Wait, what?”
“It’s in the contracts. Smart clause, actually.”
“Did the Dead fight a lot?”
“Oh, all bands fight, but we used to strike each other with our fists, or improvised melee weapons. There was also some choking.”
“Jesus, Mick: you guys used to strangle each other?”
“Try to. Never to completion.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“Legally it does.”
“Okay, I gotta give you that.”
“Your band doesn’t do any of this? Never had a keyboardist and a backup singer try to murder each other with luxury cars?”
“We don’t have either of those–”
“You kids today got it easy. Problem comes up and you discuss it? Try to work things out reasonably? We couldn’t do that. We had to throw cooked turkeys at concert promoters and have intra-rhythm section knife fights.”
…
“You didn’t have to do any of that, Mick.”
“No. But, God, it was fun.”
No, I did not photo shop this.