Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: 1992

Horny Billy

“Ass! I got horns on my dick!”

ahhROOOOOOOOOOga

Nice dick-horns, Billy.

“Gonna play ’em again!”

ahhROOOOOOOOOOga

That is a very comical sound. What’s with the headphones?

“Listening to the game. Got five grand on the Pistons.”

Holy shit, is that a ponytail?

“I’m going through one of my mid-life crises.”

One of?

“Yeah, I’ve had like a half-dozen. I grow my hair out, buy a sports car, and start plowing real young skank.”

How is that different from your normal life?

“I told you: I grow my hair out.”

Right.

“Real young, too. Wait, maybe not. When am I?

1992.

“Still socially acceptable! Real young, too.”

Jesus, Billy.

“I got a whole system with ’em: first I get ’em an all-day sucker.”

And then?

“Then I buy ’em a lollipop.”

Badum bum.

“I can’t help myself. They’re still covered with, like, a downy fur.”

You’re talking about baby ducks.

“Tawny. With a dewy lip. Oh, Ass, they’re loamy of loin.”

Stop being weird and obscure.

“Loamy!”

Stop it.

“I actually use these horns on the skank.”

In God’s name, how?

“Stick in in their crotches and blast it off. If y’hear an echo? Find new skank.”

We’re done.

A Terrible Poem About Several Buses

Hoist the flag
Any one
(Well, not some)
And we will let the road wave it for us
SNAP
Thwipthwipthwip

One of you needs to learn how to double-clutch
It’s not fair I do all the driving
I don’t wanna be Neal Cassady
Not all the time
You’ve been promising you would for three tours, Moochie
Not cool, Moochie

The shows are islands
And the roads are lava
Hop from safety to safety
See as much of America as you can
Without America seeing you
Drive casual.

Kelly has that sheet
She’ll be in Cincinnati
There’s no Cincinnati show
Somewhere in Ohio
It would work itself out
The world is enormous but the lot is small

Don’t pick at it
I know
I know
Dude
Don’t pick at it

Metal doesn’t glue together
Screws and nails don’t work
Rivets are good
A weld is the best
Because that makes two things one
The temperature of the torch is dependent
Iron at this heat
Steel at that
Science
But the angle of the torch?
Art

Might As Well Choogle (Choogle!)

Have you ever wondered what the Dead and Van Halen have in common? And did you desire that information in an easy-to-read bullet point presentation? Well, you’re a lucky little fucker tonight, ain’t ya?

  • From California, but not the same California.
  • Drummers enjoyed hitting people.
  • Cover of Dancing in the Street was not as good as Martha and the Vendellas, but better than Mick Jagger and David Bowie’s duet.
  • Both Van Halen and the Grateful Dead have seen Sammy Hagar naked.
  • Guitarist could be persuaded to solo.
  • Not fans of Somerset Maugham.

And that’s pretty much it, except for this, Enthusiasts, which is the only tangible connection between the two bands other than Bobby and Sammy Hagar’s long friendship: the Drums from 5/21/92 at the Cal Expo. Listen at 3:10 for the sample from Runnin’ With The Devil.

The Big Retcon

I am now retconning the Grateful Dead. All thirteen of you know that I have, up until this momentous occasion, unofficially declared everything post-Brent to be only dubiously existent. Yes, there’s scattered evidence here and there, but–and I say this impartially–doesn’t it just make more sense to believe that the band mysteriously disappeared in a 1979 plane crash? Well, their plane didn’t crash: a plane crashed into their tour bus. Six of one, half-dozen of another.

But as of now, I declare all of the Land of Welnickia barren and off-limits. Vince is no longer in continuity. He has ceased to be canon: Vince is the Dead’s version of the Expanded Star Wars Universe. (You know the Expanded Star Wars Universe, right?  The place where everybody had Jedi babies and the Emporer had hidden so many clones of himself in so many places that by the time they were four novels in, every 13th person on Coruscant was named Not Secretly Palpatine’s Clone. Then a moon fell on Chewbacca.)*

Isn’t life easier now? No more nonsense hype about the 91 Boston Garden shows, no more having to pretend that the oakland ’92 Dark Star was as good as a ’72.  ANY ’72. Five less years taking up space in your head.

You’re welcome.

*That really happened, the Chewbacca thing. These guys whose galaxy is even far, farther away than the one our heroes live in, attacked Luke and them and Luke and them fought back or something and then Chewie was helping to evacuate a planet –like  you do–and the bad guys threw a moon at him. So now, Chewie’s dead. Except he’s not really, because he was only ever just a pituitary case in a Space Monkey suit

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