Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: oteil burbridge (page 2 of 8)

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.


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.


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.)


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


ATTENTION PLEASE: Billy has new sneakers.


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.


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.”


“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?


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?”


“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.”


“The other motherfucker.”


“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.”


Begun, These Rando Wars Have

Don’t you say–

“Rando War!”

–Rando War. Goddammit, Oteil. You’re above this.

“I’m not.”


“You would not believe how many more randos I attract since I started singing lead. They’re like moths, and I’m a bug zapper.”

Are you electrocuting randos to death?

“Not randos. Not plural.”

You’re really becoming a true Grateful Dead, Oteil.

“I’m settling in.”

“Oh, is Rando War back on?”


“BOOM, I just won Rando War.”

There are no winners in a Rando War, Jeff Chimenti. Just death. And randos.

“But look how many I have!”

Venture not down this path, Jeff Chimenti.

“Kiss my balls.”

Everyone’s a dick tonight.

“Quit whining, motherfucker. Don’t bring your bitch shit to a Rando War.”

Oh, not you, too.

“Rando War is over. I won. Tell all them white motherfuckers to go home and kiss on each other.”

That’s Wynton Marsalis.

“Motherfucker’s a rando to me.”


“I’m a cold motherfucker. You see my shirt?”

I do.

“That shit’s the truth.”

None of this makes any sense any longer.

“Whose fucking fault is that?”


“You can pick off my cheese plate if you want.”

Thank you, Mr. Davis.

“It’s the little moments of humanity that make Rando War such a fucking tragedy.”

If you say so.

Kid Can’t Read At 17

Hey, Garcia. Whatcha doing?


You love that.

“It ain’t the pits.”

Did you pick out all the symbols for the fretboard?

“Kinda. I said ‘Put some bullshit on it,’ and Dougie ran with the concept.”

What does it all mean?

“I don’t speak hieroglyph, man. Ask an Egyptian.”

Oh, I know one. Hey, Oteil?

“You may call me Opteil.”

Like Ptolemy. Nice.

“The joke only works in print.”

Still, it’s a good one. Anyway, can you read hieroglyphics?

“Are you accusing a black man of being illiterate?”

HIEROGLYPHICS. Totally not an offensive question.

“I’m fucking with you.”

It’s just that I got Miles Davis calling me racist all the time now. I’m overly sensitive.

“Can’t have that. Worst part of racism is the temporary discomfort it causes white people.”

So true. So fucking true.

“Yes, I can read hieroglyphics.”

How’d you learn?

“Rosetta Stone.”


“I’m on fire tonight.”

You are. So, what does Wolf’s fretboard say?

“Huh. Lemme see.”



“Oh, sure.”



“It’s a recipe for spaghetti bolognese.”

Was not expecting that.

“Nope. Hey, what did the Ancient Egyptian student say to the spelling teacher?”


“How many birds in pharaoh?”

Killing it, man.

“I feel good in this outfit.”

It suits you.

Thank You, Dick

Others, better equipped, will write Dick Gregory’s obituaries. None of them will note how cool he smoked.

Gets Cold In The Mountains

Stay away from the one on the right.

“Mountain Girl?”

My right.

“Oh. Yeah, no problem. Trixie’s a beautiful woman, but I’m a happily married man.”

How old’s the kid now?

“Going on three.”

Teaching him how to play yet?

“Of course! Dead’s gonna need a new bass player in a couple decades.”

The music’s never gonna stop, is it?

“Nope. Hey, uh, I thought you were taking care of that guy.”

Which guy?

“You know which guy.”


“You vill take care of Putin?”

I’m gonna chase your Commie ass back to the Caucuses.

“Putin do nothing wrong. Is vitch hunt.”

No witch hunt, no witch hunt.

“Leave Putin alone. Is time for…how you say in English? Covfefe?”


“You see vhat Putin did?”


“Putin love coffee. Best part of vaking up is having your enemies murdered. And also Folger’s.”

Get away from Red Rocks.

“Red Rocks is historically part of Russia.”

Totally isn’t.

“Many Russian citizens here being oppressed by jam bands. Putin liberate.”

The only thing you liberate is other people’s money.

“Use money to buy giant hats. You like hat?”


“You like hat?”


“You like hat?”

Yeah, fine, it’s a cool hat.

“And jacket?”

Jacket’s pretty cool, too.

“Putin vins again.”

I hate you.


Putting The Red In Red Rocks

“Y’know, Mrs. Adams-Girl-Kesey-Garcia, I just introduced a proprietary strain of weed under my own brand.”


“Yeah. Very exciting. Do you know anything about growing weed?”

“You’re adorable.”

“What did I say?”

“Nothing, junior. Hey, who is that guy?”

“The shirtless one in the river over there? He looks familiar”

“Getting a bad vibe off him.”

“I’ll check him out.”

“Would you?”

“Course. Hey! Can I help you?’

“Nyet need help.”

“Putin catch fish.”

“Are you supposed to be here?”

“Putin go vhere Putin vant.”

“Can I see your pass?”

“Pecs are pass.”

“They’re not.”

“You are nyet in charge, Black Phil.”

“Do not call me that. And where’d you get a river from?”

“Bring vith me.”

“You can do that?”

“Da. Is most beautiful river in world. Many people say this.”

“Whatever. You’re bothering MG, and you’ve got to go.”

“Vhat!? You are 69’ing Putin?”

“86. You mean 86’ing.”

“Ah. English nyet idiomatic.”

“It’s pretty good, man. Lot better than my Russian.”

“Spaceeba. Vould you like to learn Russian vord?”


“Vord is kompromat.

“Ooh, that sounds neat. What does it mean?”

“Come back to hotel and Putin show you.”


“OTEIL! Go back in the dressing room!’

“Aww, Mountain Girl, I was playing with my new friend.”

“Now, mister!”


“And YOU!”

“Vhat? Putin do nothing, Voman of Mountains.”

“Go! Get out of here before I take my shoe off!”

“But I vas fish–”


“Da, ma’am.”

Tiger Tiger, Burbridge Bright

Hey, Oteil. Whatcha doing?

“Jerry Tribute! Seeing my friends, playing some of the Big Guy’s tunes, having a good time!”

You’re a positive dude.

“I am.”

You liking Colorado?

“Parts of it. Parts of Colorado are delightful.”

And the rest of it?

“Alabama with mountains.”

True. You should stay in the back of the bus while you’re there.

“Excuse me?”

Dude, I meant the master bedroom of your luxury cruiser.


How heavy is that thing?

“I think it’s made from a neutron star.”

That’s what I hear.

“Time goes faster when you’re near it.”

Sure did for Garcia.

“Maybe that was it.”

Could be. Or the smoking, heroin, and ice cream.

“A combination of the four.”


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.”

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