Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: headcount

Red Touches Black, Son Of Jack

Why do you hate cameras?

“Soul stealers.”

The children are so happy to be taking a picture with you, and it’s like you’re staring down the banker what come to take Pappy’s farm.

“I don’t wanna get ’em too excited. None of them are making it to the end of the tour.”

Goddammit, Bobby, are those Redshirts?’

“You bet.”

Where did you get Redshirts from?

“Same place Phil got his busboys, I think.”

Please don’t send those optimistic Millennials to die on Away missions.

“Too late for that. This is what’s left.”

How many did you start with?

“75? 80? You’d be astonished how many you go through.”

Why do you even need Redshirts?

“Might run into a Gorn.”

You’re not going to run into a Gorn, Bobby.

“Never know.”

And if you do, the captain is supposed to fight it. That’s you.

“Yeah, uh, we’re playing by Next Generation rules. Something needs to be investigated, we send out the keyboardist and some Redshirts.”

Makes sense.

“Grateful Dead keyboardists and Star Trek Redshirts. Lot in common.”

True. So, you’ve killed around 65 of them in 15 shows?

“Around there. Nobody really keeps track.”


“Billy straight-up drowned three of them in a swimming pool.”


“Bus got a flat one night.”

And you made one of them change it and there was an accident?

“No, no. We, uh, fashioned a replacement tire out of half-dozen of their bodies.”


“Show must go on.”

Does it?

Voting Is Fuego, Kids





“Dammit, Pagey, I’m holding up a sign right now.”

“I can’t do my belt.”

“I’ll help you in a minute, buddy.”

“What do those shapes mean?”

“It says ‘Go Vote.’ People have to vote this year.”

“I vote for spaghetti and meatballs..”

“We’re not voting for lunch, Page. We’re voting for a president.”

“Then I vote for the happy man with ears. His name is Madonna.”




“He smiles and his wife is pretty.”

“Yes, but he can’t be president any more, buddy.”

“But I want him to be.”

“Lot of people do. But he can’t. It’s a rule.”


“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Black-Voted Wind


Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?


I see.

“Sign’s real bright, sure. But, you know: there are color-blind folks out there. Maybe they wouldn’t understand what to look at.”

Thoughtful of you.

“You bet. We had a color-blind section at shows. Just like the Deaf section.”


“So we’d know who not to try to sell tie-dye shirts to.”


“Solid colors and sharp contrasts is the thing.”

So who you voting for, Bobby?


I meant this year.

“So did I.”

Good talk.

Vote Or Die (Painfully)


Jesus, Phil, you look like you should be holding a pitchfork and standing next to your wife in a famous painting.

“Shut it, fuckface. Voting is important.”

I get it, but this is a threatening expression you have on your face.

“Democracy is being threatened. The cretins are at the door!”

No argument here.

“Boobs, boors, philistines, simpletons, and the alliterate.”

Phil, that is democracy. Those people you mentioned? They’re the electorate.



“Since when?”


“Then maybe we need a little less democracy.”

Mm. Dunno about that one.

“Yeah, you’re right. Everybody gets a vote no matter how dumb they are.”

It’s the least worst system.

“Still, though. This fucking guy.”

This fucking guy. Probably too late now, but you should get Terrapin Crossroads made a polling place. Sell a lot of drinks.

“I gotta make a call.”

God bless America.

“And the 700% markup on liquor.”

A Vote For Kreutzmann Is A Vote For Dancing In The Streets


Oh, this won’t end well.

“Thoughts on my Ass!”

You’re not giving up on that nickname, are you?

“You thinking about my ass?”

Literally, no.


I suppose.

“There ya go. Ass! A vote for Billy is a vote for a chicken in every pot, and chicks and pot.”

I can get behind that platform, actually.

“Gotta lot of ideas. Working on a flat tax.”

Everyone in the country pays the same tax rate?

“Nah. Everybody chips in to buy flat ladies boob implants.”

That sounds right. What about your foreign policy?

“Skank is skank.”

I wasn’t asking who you would plow.

“Elvira. I’d make her the mistress of my dork.”


“Ah, I’m just fucking with ya.”


“Notched her already. ’83. A lot of that boobage is push-up bra.”

Makes sense.

“But a lot of it ain’t! I cigarette boated her.”

What’s that?

“Like motorboating, but much faster.”


“BLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLB. That’s the sound it makes.”

Got that. Can we get back to voting?

“No, I wanna talk about tits some more.”

I’m done.

Bobby Goes To The Office

bobby office computer

“And what is, uh, this young lady here doing?”

“It’s called a job, Bob.”

“I’ve heard of those. Had a couple. Cowboy, rock star. Is she a cowboy or a rock star?”

“No, Bob.”

“Then I have no frame of reference. Also, I notice her lyric-screen is not on a microphone stand, but on the desk in front of her. And there’s no lyrics.”

“That’s a computer, Bob.”

“Super-computer? I know one of those. Good guy. Well, not a guy. Wall.”

“Just a regular computer.”

“Ah. And what are we watching?”

“Cat videos.”

“They’re scamps, kitties.”


Bobby has now reached the point in his career that when he shows up at places, he is led around the room to look at stuff. Like the Pope, or Kim Jong-Un.


Hey, Matt Busch. Whatcha doing?



“Fuck off.”

I just–

“Sell your bullshit elsewhere, twinkletits.”


Can I steal “twinkletits?”



An Open Letter To

deadandco participation row headcount

Dear Headcount (But Also Everyone Else Everywhere):

Only kinda rockin’? What about Participation Row’s relationship to the hook: on or off?


But I come back to the use of the word “rockin'” and ask: are you Tommy Lee, Headcount? Because only Tommy Lee can say “rockin'” sincerely and get away with it. The Crüe have broken up, and Tommy Lee is most assuredly bored and naked, so he may very well be a charitable organization dedicated to voter registration by now. I doubt it, because if you were Tommy Lee, then your name would be Headcöunt.örg  so I will have to disallow the “rockin’.”

In conclusion, I demand to be placed on the Headcount Board of Directors.

Yours In Democracy,
Thoughts on the Dead

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