Thoughts On The Dead

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

In Which Bob Weir Pokes Sammy Hagar

img_3467“I’m gonna poke ya, Sam.”

“I don’t wanna play the poking game. Stop that.”

“Poke.”

“Quit it.”

“Poke.”

“Quit it.”

“Poke.”

“Bobby, what’s with your boy?”

“The narrator guy?”

“Yeah. He’s weirder than usual. I don’t know if I want to party with this guy.”

“But, Sam: you party with everyone.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Anyway, it’s Anarchy Wednesday or something like that.”

“Hell does that mean?”

“No clue. Just repeating what I was told.”

“And Bob? Don’t listen to that guy. Make a reality show. I made one.”

“Yeah, I was on it.”

“That was fun!”

“And Mickey, too.”

“We had to edit Mickey out.”

“He’ll be hurt.”

“Well, he should have worn pants. I told him!”

“You know he can’t hear you.”

“I wrote it down!”

“Oh, then: yeah. He should have put on some pants in that case.”

“He should get his own reality show if he wants to walk around with his cowbell and tom-toms dangling.”

“Please don’t give him any ideas.”

“How about a reality show for the Dead & Company tour? My production company could do it.”

“Please don’t give me any ideas.”

“What about–”

“Please don’t give Josh Meyers any ideas. Kid’s itching for another TV show.”

“You hearing things?”

“My Bobby-sense is tingling.”

“That’s never good.”

“I been a Grateful Dead for half-a-century now: I know when one of ’em’s getting squirrely.

“Poke.”

“Please, man!”

“You could poke me back, Sam.”

“I don’t want to!”

“Cuz the game feels awful lop-sided.”

“It is!”

3 Comments

  1. “My Bobby – sense is tingling” this is clearly as much proof of genius as

  2. “Sam, there may be only one way to rock, but there’s an infinite number of ways for you and I to fuck up Loose Lucy.”

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