Thoughts On The Dead

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

Run, Don’t Walk!


“Yes, sir?”

“What the hell is this?”

“It is the poster for Phish’s New Year’s run at MSG.”

“What’s a Phosh?”

“Phish, sir. They’re four men who shouldn’t sing from Vermont. A boingy sort of sound.”





“It’s good.”

“I agree, sir. Colorful, playful.”

“All sorts of fuls.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve been looking at it for a minute and haven’t retched once. Not once!”

“No, sir.”

“Haven’t farted in disappointment.”

“That’s good, sir.”

“Jenkins, it looks like someone put some effort into this poster.”

“It does, sir.”

“Not just stuck his dick in a paint can and fucked a canvas.”

“No, sir.”

“Like our posters.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They’re making us like assholes here, Jenkins. Stinky assholes flecked with gas station toilet paper and several tenacious corn kernels. Gaping assholes that swallow up ships like the dreadful Charybdis. Sewn-up assholes that permit poop no passage.”

“Assholes, sir.”

“Assholes, Jenkins. And I don’t like it. I won’t stand for the assholification of this organization. I’m drawing a line in the taint.”

“Can we move away from this metaphor, sir?”

“We must retaliate.”

“By improving the quality of Dead & Company’s posters?”

“By assassinating Phish.”

“Oh, no, sir. We can’t assassinate Phish.”

“Ah. Yes. You’re right. They’re not political figures. Can’t technically be assassinated. We’ll just murder them.”

“Sir, why is that always your first idea?”

“Because it’s always the best idea. Murder solves more problems than it causes, Jenkins.”

“It doesn’t, sir.”

“Oh, fine. We won’t kill Phish. What about Twiddle?”

“You can have Twiddle executed, sir.”

“Anyone could have Twiddle executed, Jenkins! The only reason that grouping of mammals hasn’t been killed is because no one could be bothered to do it.”

“Sir, can we get back to the poster?”

“Poster! Throw those bears on something!”

“No, sir. The Phish poster that has brought about a feeling of inadequacy in our offerings.”

“Who was the tiny negro that spoke so sassy to the white people?”

“Are we talking about real life, sir?”

“No, the teevee.”

“Oh. Oh, well then that kind of makes sense. There were two. Willis and Webster.”

“The white people stole the tiny negro from his nest and raised him as their own. Is that right?”

“Why are we discussing this, sir?”

“Imagine one of them. Willy or Webby or whatever their names were. Imagine one of them is tasked to make love to a mountain. And not a weak mountain, Jenkins. A proud and boastful mountain. Maybe it’s sprinkled with dead Sherpas. Real son-of-a-gun of a mountain.”

“I get it, sir.”

“And now that tiny negro–”

“Let’s make that the last time we use that phrase, sir.”

“–is issued an undeniable command: Son, go fuck that mountain ’til she loves you. You understand me, Jenkins? Not just flap around on a ridge and run away. The ol’ hump-n-jump. No, no. That sassy little half-pint of chocolate milk had to make the mountain cum.”


“I once brought a hill to orgasm, but never a mountain. It’s a feat, Jenkins!”

“What the hell are we talking about?”

“No idea. I thought you were keeping track. I’ve been free-associating for a few minutes.”

“Sir, the posters.”

“Posters! We could kidnap the person who did Phish’s!”

“Or hire him.”

“You’re no fun any more.”

“Kidnapping was never fun, sir.”

“It is if you’re drunk.”


  1. You know what would help me decide this? Some links to full downloadable shows.

  2. Mean, Green, Devil Eating Machine

    January 2, 2018 at 12:58 pm

    That poster is a nice lift from some R. Crumb comix.

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