Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: patrick leahy

The Boys And Old Man Leahy

Not pictured: Al Franken, supporting women. (Technically, putting your hand on a woman’s ass is supporting them.)


“So, uh, Senator. Where’s your partner?”


“Yeah. If anyone should be a Deadhead, you’d think it would be him.”

“You’re right, but he’s not. I’ve asked him. He says your music is counter-revolutionary and aspirational.”

“Ah. What, uh, what kind of stuff does he prefer?”

“Work songs. Poetry about the People.”

“Y’know, the more I hear about that guy, the less I like him.”

“Most folks have that reaction.”


Mickey, look this way.

No, over here.

The same way the other two are looking, Mickey.

Oh, fuck it. Just take the picture.

A Never-Before Seen Publicity Photo Of The Grateful Dead In 1977

That look on Bobby’s face? That’s the look you get when Bono starts talking to you.


That’s Dick Durbin from Illinois on the left, and Patrick Leahy is next to Mickey, but does anyone know who the tall lady and the round man are?


“Bob. Can I call ya Bob?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Otherwise, you know, I won’t know I’m part of the conversation.”

“Bob, what d’ya know about African debt?”

“Just what I hear on the radio.”

“Tremendous problem in th’ Third World.”

“Y’know, when I have money troubles, I do a tour and get a new business manager. Has, uh, Africa considered that?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Always worked for me.”

“Bob, there’s one more wee matter.”


“Can you get John Mayer to stop trying to join U2?”


“Tall kid, wears clothes.”

“Oh, Josh. He doing that to you, too?”

“No, U2.”

“We’re both correct here.”

“Bob, it’s got to stop. The Edge is gonna punch him.”

“You really call him that?”

“The Edge? Of course.”


“Okee-doke. I’m gonna talk to anyone else.”


Durbin’s shitfaced.


Seriously, look at him. Schnockered. Trying to stand perfectly still, keep a neutral expression on his face: Durbin’s laced.


Is Bono just allowed to come and go from secure buildings at will? Can he wander into the Situation Room? Can he play basketball in the Supreme Court’s court? (The Supreme Court has a basketball court in it. The building, I mean. Not the nine people who we refer to collectively as the Supreme Court. You could not fit even part of a basketball court in Ruth Bader Ginsburg. She is tiny.)

To Leahy Me Down

“Psst. Weir.”

“Yeah, Mick?”

“Who’s this?”

“Senator from Vermont.”


“No, no, no.”

“Oh, good. That guy shows up and white people start arguing.

“This is the one who likes to be in movies.”

“He’s got the looks.”

“Handsome devil, yeah.”

“Hey, Weir.”

“Yeah, Mick?”

“I think we made the right decision not tucking our shirts in.”

“We’re rockers, Mick.”

“Totally. This place have a Hostility Suite?”

“Yeah, but they call it the Cloakroom.”



“Does that mean–”

“It’s not a room full of cloaks you can yoink.”

“–that it’s…okay, just checking.”

“Try not to steal anything while we’re here, Mick.”

“I promise nothing.”

The Singing Senator


A few of my long-time readers may remember TotD has become BFF’s with US Senator Pat Leahy (D-VT).

It was less than 24 hours ago you were hallucinating about this out loud. In between mocking Garcia’s love life, of course.

Nevertheless: you would be shocked how many Enthusiasts have only the most episodic of memories. Was the Pat Leahy thing yesterday, or was Bobby becoming a vampire yesterday? When was the last time anyone heard from Mrs. Donna Jean? I don’t think anyone celebrates T-Shirt Tuesday anymore.

Your point is made.

Thank you. Also: Mickey should fuck off away from that microphone. Maybe the Senator can sing, maybe he can’t: Mickey’s gonna start to rap and it’s not going to work out well for anyone.

Singing drummers? Garcia’s remains are spinning in that filthy, foreign river they dumped him into.

The Beginnings Of A Beautiful Friendship

bobby leahy

“Now, Bob: how many times do I have to tell you not to wear a tie on my behalf.”

“Oh, no, Your Worship: there’s like half-a-pharmacy in the lining of this sucker.”


“Oh, yeah. Nobody ever pats down a tie.”

“You got a little something in there for your old buddy Pat?

“Sure, Mr. Mayor. You wanna dab down, zonk out, fly high, or shoot the moon?”

“Just a couple percocet would be fine, Bob.”

“Oh, shit, I got like 90 of those on me. Here.”

“I got some boner pills, too.”

“Then kick those fuckers down, bro. Let’s find the bar, wash these down, and rustle up some foxes.”

“Will they be stone-cold, Warden?”

“Dude: I’m a Senator and you’re a rock star.”

“We are gonna get sooooo laid.”


phil bobby jerry bruce shorts wow

Tossed over the transom by YumCum–


–whatever, this photo from the night my new best friend and political mentor Senator Pat Leahy (D-VT) attended might occupy a bit of time and space. There is not one acceptable thing about it. I’d say that we’ll go left to right, but we all know I’m going to be making repeated trips back to Phil, so let’s just begin to look at this bullshit.

(The photo blows up nice and big and clear and you just hit the “enhance” button as many times as you can because you want to say as much of this as possible. This is the Dead version of the Hubble’s Deep Field picture, except instead of seeing infinite galaxies as you zoom in, you see infinite bullshit.)

  • We start easy with Phil and note that he wearing either Keds or Cousin Eddie’s white loafers from National Lampoon’s Vacation.
  • Bobby’s hitting the Jimmy Buffet show after this.
  • The SuperCuts that Jill always takes Phil to had burned down (Garcia) so Jill took him to their less-popular competitor MiddlingCuts.
  • Which was closed, so she did it herself. You can’t see it, but she cut the bejeezus out of Phil’s left ear.
  • Holy shit, are those jeggings, Garcia?
  • Everyone needs to stop using the Time Sheath technology to go shopping.
  • We can assume that the drummers are up to some bullshit, but can’t see them. I mean, statistically: Billy’s so drunk that he’s no longer racist and wearing a shirt that, in defiance of God’s love, is both tie-dyed and Hawaiian at the same time; and Mickey’s got some sort of smart condom attached to his dong and is trying to make music with his boner, but we can’t verify these things. Therefore, the drummers win this photo by default.
  • Is Bobby wearing Dead sneakers?
  • There are Dead sneakers?
  • If so, how have I not seen Mickey wearing them?
  • Bruce looks like he’s gonna ask you about the drive over and whether you want a hot dog or a hamburger.
  • Bobby got his socks at Tan Francisco’s Vague Mexican Food and Hosiery. Francisco (who was simply courting skin cancer) sold only the finest in…socks? Leg warmers? They definitely went on your feet. While you were there, you could order a taco or a burrito or an enchilada. You could order whatever the hell you’d like, but you received some stuff wrapped up in a corn something.
  • Phil looks like the Target assistant manager who got fired for killing all those people.
  • Plus, he’s singing. Yay.
  • If you were naked and in public and someone offered you your choice of anything being worn in this picture, you’d choose the accordion. The accordion is the most acceptable thing in this picture.
  • Do you realize how tough that is in a non-Bavarian setting?

We Are Everywhere

leahy franken graham

“Fuck off with Brent.”

“He was my friend.”

“Brent was everybody’s friend. He was a like a cocker spaniel, but hairier. The greatest keyboardist the Dead–”

“Pat, please don’t start with this again.”

“–ever had was TC.”

“He was in the band for 45 minutes. He bought a harpsichord, gave Billy a personality test only to discover he didn’t have one, and got fired. Which may or may not have saved his life, but still.”

“TC’s the dank.”

“He is not, Senator. He is not the dank. You could maybe use him to make edibles, but you’d need a shitload of him.”

“Are you silly ol’ gooses talkin’ ’bout that ol’ band o’yours, again?”

“Yes, Lindsay.”

“Fiddlesticks. Al, who you takin’ t’ the Colonel’s cotillion?”

My Friend Pat

Thoughts on the Dead is, to my knowledge, the first daily satirical blog dedicated to a semi-defunct choogly-type band to befriend a sitting US Senator. There was a weekly webcomic entitled Oh, That Bobby! whose creator received some dick pics from Texas Governor Rick Perry, but my thing is better.

For the newly-arrived, TotD–all by myself and without anyone’s help, especially those weirdos in the comments section–posted and identified properly a pic of Garcia and Vince playing something they thought was a song, but was actually just a bunch of chords with some words on top, with a familiar patrician-looking fellow sitting behind them.

I instantly took to Twitter and asked the Senator to verify this supposition, and–

It took you three tries to get the hashtags and retweeting thing right.

–made contact with the most important men from Vermont who is named neither Ben nor Jerry: Patrick Leahy. An intern (who will most certainly be killed by Kevin Spacey sooner or later) answered my tweet pretending to be the Senator (who, if he doesn’t have anything better to do than answer random idiots tweeting at him, needs a firm talking-to about work ethic.)

This makes us best friends. Really close. Like, “showing each other weird stuff on our bodies” close. And, you know: the Senator is 74, so his body is almost entirely made up of weird stuff at this point. That’s pretty much the whole relationship: TotD pops in the Capitol, we get dabbed the fuck up, spin some ’72, show each other our buttock moles. Then we send the non-murdered intern to Ben’s for a sack-full of half-smokes and call it a night. Pretty decent friend, Patty-boy.

Now The Senator Came Down Here


So, did any of you talk to a Unites States Senator recently?

Thanks to the sleuthing of Respected Commentator BoobTube–


–we can safely say this picture was taken the night of 8/3/94 at the old Giants Stadium, which I am linking to for the same reason people slow down at car accidents, or watch those Faces of Death videos, because in addition to it being a terrible performance of a horrid setlist: it’s AUD-only.

Caveat Auditor.

(Senators get good seats to things. I should’ve majored in Being a Senator.)

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