Hey, Oteil. Whatcha doing?
“Singing! And playing bass. But the singing is the headline. Gonna take lead this summer.”
Good for you. What songs?
“It’s a surprise.”
Boo. You know all the words?
“Of course I do.”
Well, forget about a quarter of them. You’re a Grateful Dead, dammit. There are standards and precedents.
“Nope. Gonna kill it.”
You’re a positive man, Oteil.
“What’s there not to be positive about? Playing music I love for huge crowds, making lots of money, flying on private jets, my kid’s healthy, and I got a mohawk. I’m a happy man.”
“Right back atcha.”
“I know you see me, asshole.”
Hello, Red Metal Stool.
“You’re a hater.
No I just hate you. Your actions and behavior and statements have caused me to hate you. Not a free-floating hater.
“You want Bobby to sit on you.”
I truly do not.
“Plop right down.”
Is this gonna be all summer with you?
“Yeah, I’m thinking about evolving my character into a more antagonistic-type deal.”
“Hey, tell Chris Robinson to suck my red metal dick.”
I am not in contact with any of the Black Crowes.
“He looks like hippie Slender Man.”
Granted, but I don’t speak with him.
Everything about this year is worse than everything about last year, and last year was the worst year.
“Really? ‘Everything?’ The ‘worst?’ You sound like him now. This year is worse than 1920?”
“Five percent of the world’s population died from the flu.”
Fuck ’em. I am distracted by the news. This is worse.
“You’re a monster.”
You’re a stool.