Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: boulder

Fire, Fire On The Metaphor

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?’

“Is Taco Tuesday cultural appropriation of Mexicans or the Norse?”

“The Norse, sir?”

“Tiw, Jenkins. He’s who Tuesday’s named after. Norse god of law and justice and table manners.”

“The Norse had table manners?”

“Of course. They stole them from the Angles in 842. It’s like you don’t know history.”

“Just like that, sir.”

“We’ll deal with the taco conundrum later. Let’s get on this poster, Jenkins.”

“The show was yesterday, sir.”

“It’s Colorado, Jenkins. There’s no oxygen and everyone’s on dope. Yesterday, tomorrow, next week. Makes no difference to those people.”

“‘Those people,’ sir?”

“Yes, I’m racist against Coloradans.”

“Wow. New one.”

“I like to be on the vanguard of bigotry. Blaze new trails of irrational hatreds.”

“Yes, sir. Who’s next?”

“People who live on the fourth floor. Violent monsters. Not even human.”

“Which fourth floor?”

“All of them. Anyone who puts their head down to sleep in between floors three and five. Fuck ’em.”

“Yes, sir.

“Lefties.”

“Lefties, sir? What did lefties ever do to you?’

“‘Do to me?’ What does that have to with racism, Jenkins?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now: the poster.”

“If we must.”

“You know how Colorado burns down every summer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put that on the poster.”

“People die in those fires, sir.”

“No, just Coloradans.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And add some drowning children. Everything’s on fire and there are dead, wet children everywhere.”

“No drowning children, sir.”

“Oh, fine. Child. Put a drowning child in the poster.”

“No amount of children, sir.”

“Well, what would Colorado love more than an out-of-control fire? Ah!”

“Please don’t say–”

“Columbine High!”

“–Columbine…sir, no.”

“Mindy stabbing Mork.”

“No.”

“Elway getting sodomized.”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Go ahead, sir.”

“Elway getting sodomized by a can of Coors Banquet beer in Joker makeup.”

“I’m leaving, sir.”

“Oh, fine. Just make the door slamming noise so everyone knows the bit’s over.”

“Yes, sir.”

SLAM!

Sell That Silver Mine

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?”

“I had an idea! Uber, but for Dead & Company posters.”

“That’s not an idea, sir.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a sentence, kinda.”

“Jenkins, I’m tired of this poster business. Let’s sell dope.”

“You want to get into the cannabis industry, sir?”

“Industry? God, no. I want to go to the bus station and deal crystal meth.”

“Why, sir?”

“I’m beginning to find respectability irksome, Jenkins. Let’s be scum.”

“I was an Eagle Scout, sir.”

“Wonderful. You’ll wear your uniform, and I can get more money for you.”

“Sir, you cannot sell meth and pimp me out at the bus station.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, because the bus station is Pretty Cleon’s territory.”

“Oh, good point. He’s a bad mother–”

“Shut your mouth, sir.”

“I’m just talking about Pretty Cleon.”

“And two: we need to get this poster done.”

“Where are they now? Butte?”

“No, sir.”

“Lake Titicaca?”

“No, sir”

“Sloppy Pussy, Georgia?’

“Not a place, sir. Dead & Company will be playing Boulder, Colorado.”

“Not much scenery in Colorado.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“Nothing but hippies and doomsday preppers. Lot of overlap between the two groups, honestly.”

“Yes, sir. The poster?”

“Jenkins, I want you to open up your mind as wide as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Wider.”

“How’s this?”

“Wider.”

“Now?”

“Too wide. I can see your childhood.”

“Sir, just get on with it.”

“An experiment, Jenkins! We shall engage in a grand experiment!”

“And that is?”

“Let’s see how much bullshit we can cram into the poster. Stuff everything we got in there, and then stuff in some more. Those bears should be pressed up against each other like soccer fans against a chain link fence.”

“I formally repudiate that last simile, sir.”

“Nope, you’re complicit.”

“Thank you, sir. What about perspectives?”

“I don’t trust the perspectives of ethnic people.”

“No, sir. On the poster.”

“Oh, every single perspective there is. It should be tough for your brain to process fully.”

“Fonts?”

“All of them.”

“Colors?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll call the boys in the art department.”

“Rather sexist of you, Jenkins.”

“You won’t hire any women, sir.”

“Oh, then that’s sexist of me. Carry on.”

Green, Green Grass Of Home (If Your Home Is Boulder, CO)

Hi, Bobby.

“Certainly am.”

What are you doing?

“Breathing through my nose.”

I’ll bet. Looks fragrant in there.

“It’s like the monkey house at the zoo, but in a good way.”

Wait, I don’t see any Stealies at all in there. How do you have a growroom without a Stealie somewhere around?

“Lilian Monster’s slapping stickers on everything she sees as we speak.”

Oh, thank God. I was worried.

“And she’s yelling at the owner about keeping the plants in cages.”

She thinks they should be free-range?

“Something like that. I’m not listening, to be honest.”

Sure. They gonna hook you up with a little discount?

“Well, you know, not to pull rank or anything, but I’ve been getting a real good discount on pot since 1966.”

Lotta perks come with your job.

“It’s almost all perks.”

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