Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: oteil burbridge (page 2 of 7)

City Chooglers II: The Search For Bobby’s Gold

This is the shot they print on the front page of the paper: DAY HIKERS EATEN BY BEAR, EACH OTHER.


Bobby’s got a new hat? Bobby’s wearing his new hat. Simple equation.

An Ending No One Including Me Saw Coming

Where were you last night?

Excuse me?

There were no posts.

So? I take time away.

You don’t. You have no life.

I do. If you have to know, I had a date.

No. You have a better chance of getting that dog-sized elephant you want than getting a date.

Nope. Date.

You are aware that I’m you, right? I’m not a separate character like Elvis or Red Metal Stool.

Or Sleepy Batman.


He’s a fan favorite.

I’m ignoring you. You didn’t have a date.


Why do you lie?

It’s fun.

Tell the nice people what you did.

Nothing. Literally nothing. I stole the Phish show, read The Sun & The Moon & The Rolling Stones by Rich Cohen, and went to bed at 11:30.

11:30 PM?


That’s, like, seven hours before your normal bedtime. How do you even do that?

Don’t worry about it. But now I’m good. Back on a normal schedule.

And by “normal schedule,” you mean “fucking around until three in the morning and then–just as you hit a good stride with the sentences and whatnot–the sun coming up and you recoiling like a dracula?”


Gotcha. So why are you procrastinating by talking to me?

I thought you were me.

We’re a biune god. Answer me, damn you.

Well, I was nervous that I couldn’t write anymore. Hadn’t done it in, like, 38 hours. Maybe I pissed or shit out my genius.

Not a thing.

It totally is. Francis Ford Coppola did it in ’81. Huge meal of rotelli and bocceballica and scaramucci–

Not actual foods.

–and the next morning: boom. Shit out every last good decision in him.

Do you have a point, or are you just wasting the nice people’s time peering around inside your own ass?

Third option! Picture of Oteil and Amir!



You think people won’t know that you’ve been staring at that picture for a week trying to figure out one of your little skitches for it and couldn’t come up with anything, so you’re just dumping it here in the middle of a bunch of time-wasting bullshit?

Why are you a fucking snitch?

You’re see-through. You’re a living wet tee-shirt, and your soul is the nipples. Everyone can tell what you are.

I’m gonna kill you and make it look like a suicide.



“Guys! HeyYAAAAAWWWNguys. Could you keep it down?

That better not be who I think it is.


Hey, Sleepy Batman.

“Sup, bro. Can you keep it to a dull roar?”

Sorry, man.

I hate everything about this.

Brush, Back

Stop playing Oteil.

“Is that his name?”


“Huh. I’m used to people with normal names like Ramrod or Pigpen.”

Those were both nicknames, Mickey.

“You’re shitting me.”

No. So, what are you up to since the tour ended?

“Waiting for the next one.”


“And drumming.”



I assumed.

“Isn’t Josh going on tour now?”

Yeah. He’s soloing and wearing clothes all across this great country for the rest of the summer.

“You don’t say.”

A Conversation With Billy That Goes Just How You’d Assume

Hey, Billy. Whatcha doing?

“I think I’m a Big Brother now or something.”


“Helping out an underprivileged kid from the inner-city.”




“Am I being mugged?”

Jesus, man.

“World’s changing, Ass. Used to be you had to be white to be a Grateful Dead. Or at least Mexican. Now there’s a pretty chick, a black guy, and a Jew!”

First off: that is not a pretty chick, it’s John Mayer.

“Tell that to my boner.”

Second: his name is Oteil.

“Oteil’s not a Jewish name.”

The black guy!

“Makes sense. Jewish guys are named Schmucky or Lumpberg or Amir.”

Or Mickey. Mickey’s the Jew.

“Yeah? Thanks for telling me.”


What is that?

“Updating my Jew files on the ol’ Apple Watch.”


“Because it’s 2017. What am I supposed to do, write it down like a caveman?”

We’re done.


Hey, guys. Whatcha doing?

“Talking shit about Billy.”

Which one of you said that?

“Both of us.”

Makes sense.


I don’t know how I feel about the phone-necklace. Is the cord elastic? Otherwise, you’re gonna be doing a real chicken-wing deal trying to text. Does Oteil not have pockets? Did Jeff Chimenti steal Oteil’s pockets? (As established, things disappear around Jeff Chimenti.) What about a fanny pack? Bobby has several, and he’s a generous man.


Oteil has lovely skin. I bet that pisses John Mayer off.

“I wash, and I wash, and I wash…”


“Phil, you sure you don’t wanna stop by for one Dead & Company show? Sit in for a song?”

“Mickey gonna whack a pair of stolen shoes together behind me?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Hard pass.”

When Did Billy Show Up?

Hey, Billy. Whatcha doing?

“Balls deep in the hoopla.”


“Look at this. Me and Phil back together again.”

His name is Oteil Burbridge.

“That’s just an anagram for Black Phil.”

It’s not.

“It is if you’re illiterate.”

Maybe. Where have you been? This is, like, the first picture I’ve seen of you this tour.

“I been checking out art museums. Unbelievably inspiring.”

No, you haven’t.

“You’re right. Skanking it up, baby. Hanging out at dog tracks and methadone clinics. Last night I had a chick who got had a buttock amputated.”


“Lopped that fucker straight off.”

I don’t even know how that works.

“Me, either, but it did. Doctors didn’t amputate her butthole.”

How come you didn’t go to the Capitol to meet Al Franken?

“I’m a Davis man.”

Makes sense.

A More Elegant Bass Player, For A More Civilized Time

Don’t give those to Billy.


No time for pleasantries, Oteil. Do not give lightsabers to Billy.

“You exaggerate about him. What’s he gonna do?”

He’ll lightsabe people. If Billy had a lightsaber, then he would lightsabe people. Like, within seconds.

“I dunno about that.”

I’ve known him longer than you.

“Okay, I won’t give Billy lightsabers.”

Or Mickey.

“Shit, no.”

Or Bobby.

“Bobby wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Have you seen him with his drone?

“Yeah, okay. What about Chimenti?”

He’ll turn them into bongs.

“Well, I’d be into that.”

Me, too. Put that silver-haired motherfucker to work.

Staredown Street

“Who the hell is that?’

Which one?


John Mayer.


Josh Meyers.

“Still nothing.”

You okay, Bobby?

“I was bored before the show, so my shoulder started hurting.”

Stay away from those goddamned pills, Weir.

“Not pills.”


“I crushed ’em up.”


Barefoot In The Park With Oteil

Hey, Oteil.


You okay, buddy?

“Uh-huh. See me smiling? Happy Oteil. Real happy. Everything’s great.”

Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on with my big guy? You can tell me.


What is it?

“Nothing! I’m fine!”

Did Mickey steal your shoes to use as drums?


Oh, buddy, you gotta stand up for yourself.

“He was very aggressive.”

Mickey gets like that when he’s drinking.

“How did you know he’d been drinking?”

Was he awake?


Well, there you go. Doesn’t Bobby have some backup sandals you can borrow?

“Bobby said he only travels with one pair of Birkenstocks at a time.”


“Better gas mileage in the bus.”

Okay. Wait: Josh should have at least three or four dozen pairs of shoes with him.

“Yeah, he offered. We’re even the same size.”


“Honestly, I’d rather be barefoot than wear that shit.”

I hear you. Well, it’s just for the show. Can’t be that bad.

“Billy keeps throwing handfuls of Legos at me.”

Sounds right.

Basest Solos

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Taking a load off.”

I see that.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but the Grateful Dead rarely featured full-blown bass solos.”

No, they didn’t.

“For a reason.”


“But, you know, Branford loves doing ’em. Bless his heart.”

His name is Oteil.

“Agree to disagree.”

You don’t even want to comp behind him or anything?

“I’m not encouraging bass solos. Mickey used to toss used chewing gum into Phil’s hair when he did ’em. I’m not gonna go that far, but I won’t participate.”

You’re a man of principle.

“And I wanted to sit down.”

That, too.

Older posts Newer posts
%d bloggers like this: