Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: paradise waits 2014

Listen, All Y’all

Attention, San Franciscovians! What are you doing tonight? Coding? Pooping on the street? Pricing people out of their homes? Protesting said pricing? Eating Rice-A-Roni? Cocksucking?

Well, call and cancel. (Unless you are eating Rice-A-Roni. You cannot call rice and cancel on it; I am unaware of the rules about Roni.)

Friend of Thoughts on the Dead (FoTotD) Chris Jennings will be at The Commonwealth Club at 555 Post Street this evening at 6. Less than two miles from the site of Winterland, and even closer to the Great American Music Hall, The Commonwealth Club is the nation’s largest and oldest public events forum. What does that mean? Something. Also, the CEO used to be in charge of Goldman Sachs, so it’s a trustworthy organization.

What will Chris talk about? Well: his book, Paradise Now, available at all major booksellers and Amazon. I would hope he talks about the book, at least: I’m not great at self-promoting (we’ll talk about that today), but I do know that when someone invites you to talk about the book, you should talk about the book.

The only thing that I could think of that would stop Chris from selling his book would be a barrage of questions from the audience that were not about the book. Now, I’m not one for sabotage, but I do support throwing both monkeys and wrenches into machinery.

So: everyone go and refuse to let Chris discuss the book he worked so long and hard on. Here are some sample questions, but you should change the exact wording, as I have a sneaking suspicion that Chris reads the blog.

Questions to Bother Chris Jennings With:

  • Is it true that your book was secretly ghost-written by Truman Capote?
  • What does TotD smell like? Sandalwood? I bet he smells like sandalwood.
  • How does TotD greet the day? Is he an Up-And-Adam, or a Benjamin Snooze Button?
  • Why has Chicago’s Armenian Village not been overrun and decimated by Chicago’s Turkish Town?
  • Do people call you CJ?
  • If so, does this please you?
  • Or are nicknames for the hoi polloi?
  • How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? (If Chris answers anything but, “A woodchuck would chuck all the wood he could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood,” then you have my permission to strike him anywhere but the face. Back of the head is fine, but not the face.)
  • According to Kalam’s Cosmological Argument, if we are scared of draculas, then draculas must exist: do you agree, Chris?
  • How’s Martin doing? (You should ask this question, unless Martin is there. Then, you should ask Martin. He is friendly as hell; do not fear him.)
  • Is it pretentious to name your dog after a James Joyce character, or does the “dogness” of the name-bearer negate said pretension because he is a dog and will drink out of the toilet while people watch?
  • (I know I always lie about having contest prizes, but if you can get Chris distracted and talking about whether dogs have the capacity for pretension, then I will find something for you. Promise.)
  • The Dead’s best years were ’77 and ’73. Subtract those numbers and you get 4, or “Core Four.” Is this a clue from the Illuminati? And, if not, why are you lying for the Illuminati?
  • Do you like to be called Caitlyn Jennings now?
  • What is your favorite fish to look at?
  • What is your favorite fish to eat?
  • Ever fuck a fish?
  • If so, which one was your favorite.
  • Also, could you not fuck fish anymore, Chris?
  • Have you ever messed with Texas?
  • Why the fuck would you do that, man?
  • Is it because all your exes live there?
  • I noticed your book, Paradise Now, available at all local booksellers and Amazon, contains no Garcia stories.
  • What the fuck, man?

Caption Contest!

jerry newspaper

TotD is proud to present the First Annual (until I forget about it and do it again in seven weeks, or just forget about it entirely, or my flamethrower comes from Amazon, in which case: posts will not be forthcoming) Caption Contest!

I’ve had this (rather cool) shot of Garcia on my desktop for weeks now and: I got nothing. No reason, and it’s odd: usually I can pull something out of my ass with the stickiest of lubes–


–but this one’s got me stymied. So: whattya got?

Winner gets an all-expense paid trip to see Bobby, Phil, and a bunch of ringers perform for rich people in a resort that is scheduled for completion. They can’t put a time frame on it quite yet, but the resort is most assuredly scheduled for completion. It is written down, and not just in ink: that fucker is in Sharpie.

%d bloggers like this: