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“My sweet babies and little princes and princesses and foxes and all you naughty doggies: we welcome you…to ROCK AND ROLL!”

Bobby hits a heroic chord on his guitar, which–granted–would have been more awesome had the rest of the band joined in, or at least not openly heckled him. It was still pretty cool, though.

“I need to hear you, my sweet babies. Listen to Bobby and listen to his awesome hair about loooooove. Ahhh, yes, mother-and-fatherfuckers. You gotta turn your love on, turn your light on, gotta keep it on, as the man used to say. Gotta let love open the door, like the other man used to say. You can’t put it in my butt, like the girl last night said.

“Raise those hands in the air, babies. And wave ’em. But: care, dammit.”

At this point, Garcia is only being kept on the stage and away from his dressing room by Parish dressed in hockey goalie gear.

“Y’gotta get in the Van of Faith, my sweet babies! Get in that van and drive down that Highway of Excellence, stop at the Diner of Freedom, order some Eggs of Creativity and Bacon of Politeness.

(Bobby had been to the Springsteen show a few nights previous.)

“So. I gotta hear it. I gotta HEAR it, babies. Lemme hear you say ‘love’ real loud. Lemme hear it. Yeah! One more time!

“You’re saying ‘love,’ right? I’m hearing ‘glove.’ One more time, really enunciate.

“I’m still hearing ‘glove.’ How weird is this? Cuz I figure you’re all saying ‘love,’ but–shit. Garcia? Parish, how’d Garcia get by you?”

“Went through the five-hole, Bob.”

“Dammit. End of first set.”