Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: jerry garcia (page 3 of 126)

Dishdashing Through The Snow

What is this? Olompali?

“You’re funny, man. It’s Egpyt.”

I know. Just messing with you. How you like the place?

“It’s a trip. You know Canada?”


“Nothing like that. Like, the total opposite in every way. We just talking you and me here?”


“I can’t fucking wait to go home, man. Food’s all weird here. Just try getting a steak sandwich in Cairo. I dare ya.”

What kind of food do they have there?

“Egyptian food, man. Keep up with the conversation.”


“And then once you’re done with the food…”

The bathrooms?

“I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m not particularly limber.”

Squat toilets aren’t your thing?

“You shouldn’t have to stretch before you take a shit, man.”

That’s true.

Six The Hard Way

Mickey: actively masturbating.


“Hi, there.”

“Yeah, uh, hi.”

Who is speaking right now?

“Bobby’s thighs.”


Noooooooope. Not happening.


Everyone looks like they’re sucking up to Garcia to get a promotion.


Billy’s shirt by Wyatt Koch. (Click at your own risk, but I’ll tell you upfront: you’re gonna want to murder the next rich fucker you see.)


Amir Bar-Lev is directing a documentary about Phil entitled Tucker: A Man And His Shirts.


Seriously, how was Bobby in a band with these mutants? He’s like an Eloi among Morlocks.

Set A Course For Adventure

Too cold for a toppermost?

“Far too cold. Toppermost is a temperate piece. Never winter. Now, this young Japanese designer named Toyota Toyota–”


“–is doing incredible work in that streetwear thing they do. What he did is translate the toppermost’s feel into a halfcock.”


“Halfcock. What I’ve got on.”

That’s a coat, Josh.

“Don’t call me that. It’s a halfcock. See the collar? Halfcock.”

How much secret rich-person clothing is there?

“Closets worth, dude.”

Wow. Do all rich people know about this stuff? What about Warren Buffet?

“He would have access to the information. I don’t know if he’d care to investigate.”

Probably not. Why are you recuperating in Montana? It’s cold there. Don’t you have a yacht?

“I don’t have a yacht.”

You should get a yacht. Fuckboat.

“I’m not getting a fuckboat.”

Do you not realize the rich-guy trajectory you’re on? You started on guitars, and then the watches, and the cars, and now you have to buy a fuckboat.

“Stop it. I’m not getting a fuck boat.”


“Goddammit, he got a fuckboat, didn’t he?”

Oh, yeah.

“Jesus. Hello?”


“Don’t call me that.”

“I bought a fuckboat! You paid for it, but I bought it, so we each own half of it.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“We’re gonna make money on this deal renting it out when we’re not using it, but we’re gonna use it so much! It’s great, man. Y’know what you do on a fuckboat?”


“Fuck! So much fucking. I was sticking myself in nooks and crannies, man. It’s just non-stop from the moment you get onboard, and it’s classy, too. Captain pipes you aboard, real nice. You can fuck the captain if you want.”

“I don’t want to fuck the captain, Benj.”

“He can fuck you, too. Don’t get to be the captain of a fuckboat without doing some heavy fucking. Captain Harvoldson. Big guy with a beard. That guy fucks.”

“A captain came with it? How big is this thing?”

“Not huge. But, you know, it’s not a Sunfish from summer camp.”

“How big is the boat I just paid for, Benjy?”

“Not enormous. 90 meters.”

“I have no idea how big that is.”

“Not big.”



“How big is 90 meters?”

“300 feet.”

“Thank you, Siri.”

“I love you, John Mayer.

“Wait, did your Siri just tell you she loved you?”

“Yes. Celebrities have a different Siri. Don’t worry about it. 300 feet long? Why would I need that? Jesus, how much did it cost?”

“I have no idea.”

“How could you not know what it cost?”

“I bought it in Bitcoin. What we paid is kinda fluctuating right now. We may have gotten a really good deal. Or not. I’m gonna be honest with you–”

“You don’t totally understand Bitcoin?”

“–I don’t totally…there you go.”

“No one does. Benjy, why did you buy me a floating tub of syphilis the size of a mall?”

“That’s not the question. The question is: why didn’t I do it sooner? I cannot overstate how spectacular the fucking is. Something about the sea air and the motion of the boat. Opens up your sinuses. And your butthole. Tons of butt play on the fuckboat.”


“On the fuckboat, the butthole is seen as an equivalent genital. That’s inclusion, buddy. That’s the progressive future we’re working towards.”


“The butthole must have a seat at the table.”

“Buddy, you’re gonna love it. 300 feet of fuck.”

“I have a question.”


“Whom are we fucking, Benjy?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Everybody’s hot. Very hot. Top shelf for both genders and also individuals who are flowing back and forth between. All kinds of everything. But hot.”


“And into it.”


“If you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“I mean fucking.”

“Benjy, where did these hot people come from?”

“All over the place. There’s every race and a lot of folks, you don’t know what the hell they are. Lot of accents, too. Sometimes, they yell at you in a foreign language while you’re fucking, and that’s all right by me. I like that.”

“I mean: why are they on the fuckboat? Are they being paid?”

“Only in sexual satisfaction.”

“Ew. So…they’re, like, party people?”

“Not really.”

“Benjy, who’s on the fuckboat?”

“They’re called veeslafs. You know what a golem is, right? Make ’em out of clay, stick a prayer in ’em, they come to life?”


“These are like golems, but made out of flesh.”




“Here’s the thing–”

“This won’t be good.”

“–when I tell you, you’re gonna be upset, but when I explain the reasoning behind it, you’ll understand. Okay?”


“The flesh comes from children.”


“You didn’t let me finish! I said I would explain!”

“Okay. Explain.”

“Not the good kids. Just the uggos and dummies. And fat kids. Not to fat shame or anything, but it’s just more efficient. Ten skinny kids or five fat ones: what’s easier? Fuckboat’s about smooth sailing through the water, buddy. That ethos applies everywhere.”

“Benjy, who’s harvesting these children to make sex zombies?”

“Oh, it’s not like that. The boat just erases a kid in Johannesburg or Rome or wherever and zipzops the flesh to itself by saying that it happened. Oh, also: the boat is sentient and versed in postmodernism and literary magick.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who the hell did you buy this from?”

“Y’know how I can die and come right back to life?”


“Well, you meet some interesting people like that. I’m not the only one who can do that. It’s a whole thing.”

“Get rid of it.”

“You haven’t even fucked on it yet!”

“Get rid of the boat, Benjy!”

“I don’t know, man. Boat’s pretty sweet.”

“Hey, Garcia.”

“Big Jer–”

“Don’t call me that.”

“–I don’t know if we’ve met. I’m Benjy Eisen. How you doing on managers?”

“I already got two or three, man.”

The Shock Of Genius

My God. It’s beautiful. Precarious?


Did you do that?

“The inverted pyramid of gear?”



It’s your masterpiece.

“Sometime, ya gotta challenge yourself.”


I’d Walk A Mile On A Camel

Hey, how’s it going?

“Me, man?”

Not you, Garcia.

“Are you talking to me? Because I have a great story about Coach Wooden and the difference between lava and magma.”

Not you, either, Bill Walton.


Not you, camel.

“Is me?”

Yeah. How you doing?

“Okay, mister.”

What’s your name?


Howdy. I’m TotD.

“TotD? Is not name.”

It’s a nom de plume.


A pen name.


You’re just saying “okay” and smiling, aren’t you?


Awesome. So, what’s the deal with this? You lead tourists around for a living?

“Naam. White people come. Put on camel. Walk around. White people down. Eat. Very exciting them.”

You like your job?

“Is a living.”


“Most money on side.”

What do you mean?



“Beard man and friends good customers.”

I bet.

“Who they?”

The Grateful Dead. They’re a band from California. You know what California is.

“Jews and whores on beach.”

Yeah, that’s it. They play choogly music.

“Please. What is jooooguhl?”


“I no can say. Move past.”


“Why band in Egypt?”

Because the pyramids are sacred and geomantic power and ley lines and secret histories and the Illuminati.

“Is white bullshit?”


“Okay. Why is mustache man punch camel in dick?”

Oh, that’s Billy. He does that.

“Camel get mad.”

I would imagine.

Francois’ Tower

Ah, gay Paree.

“I dunno about the gay part, but it’s definitely Paris, man.”

Tower gives it away.

“Yeah. It’ll be nice when they finish it.”

What now?

“Shh. We’re trying to convince Bobby that it’s half-built.”

It does look a bit naked.

“Well, yeah, man. It’s French.”

Speaking of which, how you guys doing with the ladies over there?

“Ah, man. You thought hippie chicks were hairy? Come to Europe. Billy gave up and started developing a relationship with his bidet.”

Clean, but sensual.

“You said it.”

Trouble, Behind

I see you peeking.

“Never did get the whole naked thing, man. Who wants to keep track of their balls, right? Tuck ’em in your jeans and go about your day.”

Could not agree more.

“And where do you keep your matches?”

Excellent question.


There are TWO people in this photograph taking pictures with their cell phones.


Anyone got a clue as to the pic’s date/location? I can’t read the ambulances, but Garcia has a ’71 vibe to him.

Crickets And Cicadas Sing A Rare And Looney Tune

“Whatchoo say, Bobert Weir!? Repeat that statement!”

“The coyote was gonna fuck the roadrunner.”

“Lesh, you hearin’ this!?”

“I’ve tried to explain it to him, Pig. Leave me out of it.”

“Dammit, Weir, the coyote is whatchoo call a carnivore! And a roadrunner is what a coyote might call lunch!”

“Be that as it may, I always saw a subtext.”

“Ain’t no subtext in a kiddy cartoon!”

“Wile E. is a boy, right?”

“I suppose.”

“And Roadrunner is a girl.”

“Roadrunner is a roadrunner! Where you gettin’ a female vibe?”

“The eyes. The legs. The adaptiveness.”

“You boys on that lightning juice tonight?”

“No, nuh-uh.”

“Be honest.”

“Cross my heart, Pig. I just, you know, think the coyote wanted to fuck the roadrunner. The eating was symbolic.”

“You’re thinkin’ of Pepe le Pew!”

“Him, too. All of ’em. Foghorn and the Bantamweight, Sheepdog and the Wolf, Bugs and Everybody. At the heart of each is a seduction story.”

“Stop talkin’ foolishness, Weir.”

“He’s right, Pig! All those cartoons were about fucking, man!”

“Garcia, you stay outta this!”

“When, uh, the coyote falls off the cliff? That’s an orgasm.”

“No, it ain’t!”

“That’s what ‘That’s all, folks’ really means, which actually has a double meaning. The first is: I just came. The second? Remove the comma and you have ‘That’s all folks.’ What’s made of folks? Semen. The double-meaning doubles back on itself. Chuck Jones was really playing the long game.”

“Weir, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m gonna go find me a fox.”

“Ooh, good idea. Grab me one.”

“The ol’ Pig’ll see what he c’n do.”

The Dead Sell Out

When did Phil stop drinking? Because this is from before that. I think it’s ’85; that shirt combination was one of Garcia’s favorites in ’85.


“So it’s me and Mydland and Jer. and we’re singing or something.”


“But then the camera pulls to out reveal we were on a monitor.”

“I don’t think there’s a special effects budget.”

“We’ll figure it out. Anyway, now we’re in the studio and you read the copy or whatever and Billy sits there and dicks around.”


“But then the camera zooms out…”

“I’m listening.”

“And I’m sitting there, too!”

“I don’t get it.”

“I was in the teevee monitor.”


“And then I’m sitting next to you.”

“You can always sit next to me, buddy.”

“Weir, I just fucking can’t with you today.”


There are (at least) three schools of thought about the Grateful Dead’s business acumen, two of which are wrong and believed by others, and one of which is correct and obviously belongs to me. The first is that the organization was made up of apple dumplings with scrota full of glitter and hugs; men and women who cared nothing for the material and did it all for the fans, and for the music. Maaaaan.

The second take, the revanchist take, the contrarian take, is that the Grateful Dead were visionaries of commerce and communication. That their early-adopter stance towards technology advanced the industry as a whole, and that their intuitive use of branding led to memetic penetration of the teenage mind via ballpoint drawings of Stealies on desks and backpacks, and then you’re gonna hear a rap about how tapers either built the internet or were the internet. Run from these types.

The truth is that the Dead did all the same bullshit the other big bands did, but–due to congenital bushiness of their collective league–they almost always fucked it up. They tried hard to be big stars, and they worked diligently at pushing merch; they played Lovelight for 45 minutes at the biggest gig of their life, and they made commercials like this.

Go watch that bullshit again. I demand it. You must. I’ll wait.


Did you see that bullshit?

Did Precarious Lee write this script? What is for sale? “Projects and products.” What is that, Grateful Dead? You literally could not be less specific. “Projects and products” encompasses actions and objects. You’re basically saying “We have nouns and verbs for sale.”

Also: calling back? Younger Enthusiasts, before the internet there were far fewer ways to buy stuff. You went to the store. Other than that, you had catalogues. You wrote the company, usually longhand, having been taught both the proper format for a business letter, and enclosed a check or money order in the envelope. Mailed it off and then waited. There was no app to obsessively check the status of your package, so there was joy in the surprise when it arrived.

After a while, you could call an operator and order out of the catalogue.

By ’85, you could also shop on teeevee. Call the number on the screen, give ’em your credit card number, and they’ll send out your Ab Weasel. (The Ab Weasel was an actual weasel that bit you if you stopped doing sit-ups.)

And that was it. There was no “call you back.”

So: the customers had no idea what they was buying, and–even if they wanted to put their money down on sight-unseen merch–needed to wait for you to get back to them?

Good work, Grateful Dead. Proud of ya.

The Briefcase of Infinite Felonies Lands Safely

Oh, holy shit, Garcia.

“What now, man?”

Did you and Brent just take a helicopter to 2009?



“We took the Time Sheath to 2009. We took the helicopter to the Alameda county fair.”


“Alameda does fairs right, man. The kids show off their cows, corn dogs. It’s just tits, man.”

Sure, right. But why did you need to go to the one in 2009?

“I like to mix it up.”

And why did you need to take the helicopter?

“Traffic, man.”


For at least one flight, that helicopter pilot was a drug smuggler.

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