So many things unexplained, hinted at, alluded to, COVERED UP by the dread Machiavellian forces of Big Dead. TotD counts at lest three MAJOR-LEAGUE CONSPIRACIES represented in the above picture.
Why, David Lesiouxsieandthebanshees?* Why do you make me cyber-and-then-actually-stalk you to find out these secrets that are my INALIENABLE RIGHTS. By the way: your name, while a never-ending source of fun and whimsy, is relatively common in Montreal and I think I might have broken into the wrong house. Funny story: that thing about Canadian politeness? Not at three in the morning for looming strangers in ski masks. In my defense: it was cold out and I had a pimple, so the ski mask was necessary, in my eyes at least.
First off, that’s not Mickey: it’s Doug Henning, and second off: it’s not even Doug Henning; it’s a Doug Henning impersonator and the only trick he knows is pulling out his dick and going, “Ta-da.” Billy could be overheard giggling and you knew he was going to be doing it for the rest of the tour.
Also, Phil’s not just friendly, or drunk (frunk, Phil used to call the mood): he’s leaving his scent through specially evolved pheromone glands in his cheeks. Phil shares this trait with all of the Cat People of Felicidae IV, his home planet.
(Honestly, though: that’s obviously Mickey, and Phil’s just plastered; he closed his eyes for a bit and Mickey played tabla rhythms on his head for two hours. The album was never released.)
* Looking up that woman’s ridiculous fake name might honestly be the most research TotD has ever engaged in.