Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: mickey hart (page 1 of 62)

Otherwise Known As The Chickenshit Show

Jeff Chimenti looks like a beloved high school music teacher who’s also a member in good standing of his local BDSM community.

OR

Billy and Oteil have both noticed the meatball the intern is holding aloft. This will not end well; Billy loves meatballs, and interns. Oteil also enjoys meatballs, but no one’s getting tackled for one. Billy’s gonna tackle the intern.

OR

All new on CBS this season: Friends. Due to legal incompetence on the part of Warner Brothers, the rights to remake Friends became available, so CBS cast these six and they perform the episodes line-for-line. It’s fucking terrible. (Bobby used to be a Joey, but now he’s a Phoebe. Mickey is Ross. Josh banged Rachel.)

OR

Can Mickey still fit the merch he’s yoinked these past few tours into a storage space, or does he need a warehouse?

OR

ATTENTION PLEASE: Billy has new sneakers.

OR

I can’t see his feet. Is Oteil in his goddamned flippity-flops? Bobby had the sense of decorum to put on his formal socks, but I think Oteil is going full flop. You are not running into a Sarasota Publix in for a chicken tender sub and a sweet tea, Oteil. At least Bobby’s sandals are made of leather.

Pss pss pss.

I am being informed that there are such a thing as vegan sandals, and even if Bobby didn’t care, he would most likely wear them just so not to get protested by Lilian Monster.

OR

What is that?

“My toppermost?”

Your kimono.

“No, no. It’s a Japanese-influenced men’s toppermost designed by Givenchy in associated with streetFUVK”

There’s no such thing as a toppermost.

“You only know about poor people clothes. We have access to shit you’ve never heard of.”

Uh-huh.

“This is what I like to call ‘Fun John.’ Real playful, just mixing and matching and, you know, trying to display my own style. I’m always thinking ‘What is my aesthetic?'”

What is your aesthetic?

“Guy who spent an hour deciding what to wear.”

You nailed it. What is that garment made of?

“Ultrasilk.”

Is that like ultrasuede? A synthetic?

“No, it’s real silk, but much fancier. The worms are all wearing little tuxedos–get this–made from the silk that they themselves produced. It’s self-sufficiency in action.”

Is it expensive?

“Oh my God, yes.”

Ballpark it for me.

“Where are we?”

What?

“I wanna know how far my dollar goes. We could buy a town in most countries for what this thing cost.”

We’re in America.

“You could start your own business.”

Pre-built space or custom structure?

“The second thing.”

Goddammit, Josh Meyers.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t worry about how I spend my money.”

I’m not worried. I’m judgmental.

“Kiss my ass. What should I do with my money?”

Take as much of it as you need for yourself and give the rest to the poor.

“I will not.”

Well, there you go.

“And of course you’d say to give my money to the poor. You’re the poor.”

I’m just repeating the words of some Jewish guy I met once.

“You would buy just as much stupid bullshit as me if you had a nickel to your name. Easy to make a decision for someone else when you’ll never face it.”

You’re right. Absolutely right. Tell you what: you give me all your money. Then you’ll see that I would live up to my words and distribute it to the needy.

“This is a trick.”

It is.

“You wouldn’t give the money away.”

I would.

“I don’t believe you.”

If you’re feeling froggy, leap.

“What if I gave you a little bit of money and saw if you gave that away? Like, as a test.”

No. I will keep and squander any amount of money less than all. All or nothing. Maximum Christ, baby.

“I’m gonna pass.”

“I like that toppermost, boy.”

“Them other white boys look like homeless lumberjacks or some shit. Hats on indoors. They lucky I got a cocktail.”

“Oh, wow, Mr. Davis. Hi. My name is John Mayer.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“I am such an enormous fan of your music. I have every one of your albums, every single one. You’re one of the most important men in musical history. In American history! It’s just such an honor. Wow.”

“In the key of E flat, what does the C minor resolve to?”

“G minor.”

“You see this medal?”

“I do.”

“You holding?”

“We are. Collectively.”

“Gather that shit up. Those motherfuckers look smelly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nice. Respectful. Hey, motherfucker.”

“Me?”

“The other motherfucker.”

Me?

“Yeah. Why didn’t you introduce me to this white boy before? I like this young man.”

Awwwwww. I wanted you to hate him.

“I’m fucking unpredictable.”

Aw.

My Second-Favorite Martian

You’re just riding out these golden years in a chariot made of crazy, aren’t you?

“I can’t believe you’re not getting the reference, man.”

Huh?

My Favorite Martian. CBS. We’re on CBS and so was My Favorite Martian. Get it?”

There’s nothing to get, Mickey. And no one remembers My Favorite Martian.

“No, they’re rebooting it.”

Of course they are.

“I’m doing the score. I was thinking about using a lot of drums.”

A departure for you. Is anyone else attached to this project?

“Amir Bar Lev is directing.”

Good for him.

“There’s Oscar buzz.”

There is.

“He says the keyword is ‘moody.'”

Moody? It’s about an alien pretending to be a guy’s uncle.

“We’re going dark with it.”

Anyone cast?

“Sean William Scott will be playing every role.”

Pass. That schmata isn’t going to be making any appearances at Dead & Company shows, is it? 

“Depends on how annoyed Bobby gets with it.”

Well, that’s thoughtful of you.

“No, the more annoyed he gets, the more likely Alien Mick is making a comeback.”

Is that what you’re doing this tour?

“Have people noticed?”

Yes.

“Good.”

The Great Wig In The Sky

Stop looking at Mickey, Jeff Chimenti.

“I can’t. His doohickeys are vibrating.”

Did he explain himself before the performance?

“Kinda. He said, ‘New Brent–‘”

He still calling you that?

“–I’m tired of being a Vulcan. I’m an Andorran now.”

Is that a Space Track reference?

“Maybe. I’m not a nerd.”

Good for you. Stop looking at him.

“He’s just so fascinating.”

In his own way.

Klaatu Barada Mickto

“I can’t even look at you.”

“Take me to your leader.”

“Not looking.”

“You’ve got a hat and I don’t give you shit for it.”

“Hat, Mick. I have a hat. You have an Andy Warhol wig and deelybobs on your head.”

“Still a hat.”

“Just because it’s on your head doesn’t make it a hat. When skank sits on my face, that doesn’t make them masks.”

“You’re looking at this with a very narrow view.”

“Can we not argue ontology right now? We’re playing Jack Straw too slow.”

“Take me to your leader.”

“This is why I get paid more than you.”

Madmen Across The Water

Is Elton’s hairpiece balding now? That guy’s skull truly does not want anything on top of it.

OR

One time on the ’72 Europe tour, the Bozo bus was pissed and fighting. Bad vibes, man, and pointed silences. And then Bobby started singing Tiny Dancer. Everyone listened for a second, and then joined in with each other throwing shit at him and calling him names.

OR

Elton John and Bernie Taupin were a better songwriting team than Lennon/McCartney. I will defend this opinion no matter how indefensible it is.

OR

Are those mass-produced glasses? Because I cannot think of another human being who could pull them off other than Elton John. (Don’t let Josh Meyers see them.)

OR

Mickey, is Sir Elton John sexually harassing you?

“A little, but it’s fine.”

It’s not fine.

“Sure, it is. He’s a knight. Prima nocte.”

Okay, first of all: prima nocte is a myth. Second of all: that is not what this is.

Droit du seigneur?”

That’s just French for prima nocte.

“I’m getting a real education here.”

Mickey, don’t put up with sexual harassment from Sir Elton John.

“I’m into it. The English harass in such classy ways.”

How so?

“When he grabbed my dick, his pinky was out.”

Sure.

“I can handle myself.”

Okay, man.

“Is it okay if I send him to Josh’s dressing room?”

Yes.

They Want To Lead The Glamorous Life

Precarious?

“Yo.”

Do I want to know what’s in the sack?

“No.”

Is it–

“Not a human.”

–a human? Okay.

“Just let this one go, boss.”

It’s gonna be tough.

“Suck it up.”

Mickey’s raccoons?

“Let it go.”

Fine.

Mick, Dick, Prick

“Simmer down, Mick.”

“No! I’m gonna fuck this cheesy Danish up!”

“Nice one.”

OR

Billy has completed his transformation into Richard Harris as Marcus Aurelius.

OR

“Shit, Larry, I’m impressed.”

“Lars.”

“It takes two of us to fuck up the time as well as you do all by yourself.”

OR

“Pull my finger.”

“I’m not pulling your fing–”

“I’ll do it, Mick!”

PFFFFFFT

“Windy one.”

“I had Bok Choy for dinner.”

OR

“You owe me money, fucker.”

“I’ve never borrowed money from you, Mickey.”

“I know. I didn’t say that. I bought Lulu. You owe me money.”

OR

“Hey, remember that movie you guys made where the only guy who wasn’t a complete asshole wasn’t in the band anymore?”

Say Hey, Mickey

Hey, Mickey.

“I got a new hat, too!”

You did. It’s spiffy.

“Thank you. I yoinked it.”

From where?

“The mall.”

Mickey, that’s not yoinking. That’s just shoplifting.

“Semantics are for lawyers. I’m a drummer. I see a hat I like, I yoink the hat. You think Billy paid for his?”

Oh, of course not. Billy hasn’t paid for anything since 1967.

“The man charges his tuggers back to the band. Plus, he shakes Black Phil down for his per diem.”

Oteil. The man’s name is Oteil.

“I don’t think that’s right.”

Let’s move past it. You all ready for the tour?

“Fuck, yeah. Been ready since…since…”

The last tour ended?

“About there, yeah.”

Got everything all packed up?

“Yup. 20 cases of chewing gum.”

Sure.

“You’ll like this. In addition to the clogs, I will also be playing galoshes this tour.”

Wow. What song.

“It’s a surprise.”

Okay.

“I have a number of hats to troll Bobby with.”

Oh, not just the sailor’s hat this time?

“I’ve gone bigger. To show my dislike of Lost Sailor, I will be donning an old-fashioned diving helmet this tour.”

Sounds right.

“And I’ve got a little striped engineer’s cap for Casey Jones.”

You’re all set.

“Tour!”

Go get ’em, tiger.

Scaffolded

Precarious?

“Yo.”

What the fuck?

“Scaffolding?”

Scaffolding.

“We thought it provided an incongruously beautiful mise-en-scene.”

What?

“Fucking with ya. I got no idea why we put that up.”

What are the monitors propped up on?

“Pizza boxes full of sand.”

It’s the Grateful Dead way.

“Yup.”

This Way And That

The true depths, the abyssal reaches, that the Dead’s bush leagueosity permeate to are revealed when you realize that they couldn’t even all face in the same direction most of the time.

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