You think I don’t care, Enthusiasts; you couldn’t be more wrong. When Dead & Company announced their free show at the Fillmore Monday night, I was both in a rush and–because of this afternoon’s thunder–covered in my own fear-doody. (TotD responds to thunder much the same way a golden retriever does.) Yet, I posted the news of the show as soon as I heard; I felt a responsibility to let you know.
And what do I get?
Nitpickery. And y’know what?
I ‘J’ACCUSE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS OF THINGS.
—j’accuse the readers of…dammit.
It’s their fault! They brought this on themselves! Look at what they’re wearing!
A t-shirt they purchased from you right before you started yelling at them?
How you doing, slugger?
I do not like thunder at all.
It was like seven hours ago.
Well, I’m apparently still a little jumpy, aren’t I?
Concentrate. Tell the nice people–
—about the free show. It’s very exciting.
It’s thrilling. Well, wait: it is actually cool. When tickets go up for grabs tomorrow at 12 PST, there’s a limit of two, plus you have to present the credit card you bought them with at the door; they’re non-transferable, so the audience is gonna be Deadheads. And it’s a much smaller place than D&C have played before, plus it is free, after all.
(The real hip kids in the crowd will hide in the bathroom after the show and remain in the building until the next night, when New Jersey’s own Titus Andronicus will surely be destroying the joint.)
Finally: you know there is no bigger fan of Jeff Chimenti than I. Or me, whichever is grammatically correct. It doesn’t matter; my love for Jeff Chimenti is like the love of a butterfly for a southerly breeze, or a cloud of a rainbow: it makes no sense upon examination. Is it a coincidence that Jeff Chimenti shares initials with Jesus Christ? And even if it is a coincidence, what if it weren’t?
But there was a memo. Oteil wore shoes, and Oteil declared it summer a month ago and broke out his flippity-flops. Not even sandals: flippity-damn-flops, and you know my feelings on those. (You lose the right to feet. Like cutting off a thief’s hand. Wear flippity-flops; state takes your feet.)
WHAT THE FUCK, OTEIL? I DEFENDED YOU. And then I scrolled back to the picture and MOTHERFUCKING FLIPPITY-FLOPS.
I stood up for you two slapdicks. “Let Oteil and Jeff Chimenti be in the pictures,” I said. AND THIS IS HOW YOU BEHAVE? Shorts and flippity-flops? No. Fuck this: I will not be treated this way. Both of you have lost your photo privileges; back to the old arrangement of old guys and pretty guy.
You did this to yourselves.
We’re back to this, huh?
I have a legitimate grievance this time.
Sure you do, buddy.