Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: poster (page 2 of 3)

Help On The Fenway

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Boston, Jenkins.”

“Beantown, sir.”

“Oliver Wendell Holmes called it the Hub. Do you know why?”

“No, sir.”

“Terrible speech impediment. Couldn’t pronounce ‘Boston.'”

“Ah.”

“I am excited, Jenkins! Let’s get in the Boston spirit.”

“How, sir?”

“Segregate the office.”

“No, sir.”

“Sell off Babe Ruth.”

“We can’t, sir.”

“Strangle someone.”

“Lots of towns have had stranglers, sir.”

“Yes, but the Tulsa Strangler didn’t get a Rolling Stones song written about him, did he?”

“No, sir.”

“Bring me your neck, Jenkins.”

“Absolutely not, sir.”

“They say it’s the most intimate way to murder someone.”

“The poster, sir.”

“Poster!”

“Any ideas, sir?’

“What about a toothbrush for your asshole? That’d stick it to Big Toilet Paper.”

“Let’s table that, sir.”

“You don’t get to table anything, Jenkins. I’m the chair.”

“Perhaps I didn’t couch my statement properly.”

“Floor.”

“Yes, sir. Floor. Now, the poster?”

“Bear.”

“Bear, check.”

“One of those tank-lizards.”

“Turtles, sir. They’re called turtles.”

“They wear their ribs on the outside, Jenkins! Preposterous rib placement.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jenkins?”

“Do you want ribs for lunch, sir?”

“You read my mind.”

“Anything else for the poster?”

“Bucky Dent refusing to make way for ducklings.”

“No, sir.”

“Whitey Bulger running over Tom Brady in a duck boat.”

“No, sir. No duck-related trolling at all.”

“What? We can’t make fun of Boston? Next, you’ll tell me we can’t make fun of homosexuals or the poor!”

“I shouldn’t need to tell you that, sir.”

“Oh, fine. Just throw the bear and the turtle and some skulls and whatnot in there.”

“So, same as usual?”

“Precisely. Rib time?”

“Rack ’em up, sir.”

I Wish I Was A Great Big Creepy Bear And Some Fucking Turtles And Whatnot On A Northbound Train

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?’

“It’s Ice Cube’s birthday.”

“I didn’t know that, sir.”

“I hope he has a good day.”

“Well done, sir.”

“Not his real name, you know. Ice Cube.”

“I did know that, sir.”

“He was born MC Fiddle Faddle.”

“No, sir.”

“He was born into this hip-hop game, Jenkins.”

“If you say so, sir. Can we get to the poster?”

“No.”

“We must, sir.”

“Oh, damn the poster. Damn it to Hell!”

“The poster’s already for Pittsburgh, sir. Hell’s not much of a drop-off.”

“Pittsburgh. Ugh. Nothing but rivers you can’t spell and improperly-placed french fries.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They don’t go in the sandwich. Fries go next to the sandwich.”

“I agree, sir.”

“Are they still flashdancing in Pittsburgh?”

“Not since the 80’s, sir.”

“A fine dance, Jenkins. My favorite, at least since the lambada got itself forbidden.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lambada with me, Jenkins!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Let’s dance dirtily!”

“No.”

“I’ll put my baby in your corner.”

“Pass, sir.”

“When I said ‘baby,’ I meant ‘penis.'”

“Yes, sir.”

“And by ‘corner,’ I meant–”

“The poster, sir.”

“Poster!”

“Yes, sir. We need to concentrate.”

“We should get a famous artist. Is Chuck Close available?”

“Yes, but our office is on the second floor.”

“Ah. How about that fellow who draws those flattering cartoons of the president?”

“Ben Garrison? No, sir. He’d draw a bear and then write BEAR on it.

“That’s not a necessarily bad thing, Jenkins. Many Deadheads are utter morons.”

“True, sir, but it’s just not the aesthetic we go for.”

“You’re right, you’re right. Okay, here’s what we do: put the happiest bullshit we have on the poster, but make it somehow ominous.”

“Yes, sir. Color scheme?’

“Imagine you just vomited up a peach cobbler.”

“I’m on it, sir.”

“Watch out for that Goodyear blimp, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fire, Fire On The Metaphor

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?’

“Is Taco Tuesday cultural appropriation of Mexicans or the Norse?”

“The Norse, sir?”

“Tiw, Jenkins. He’s who Tuesday’s named after. Norse god of law and justice and table manners.”

“The Norse had table manners?”

“Of course. They stole them from the Angles in 842. It’s like you don’t know history.”

“Just like that, sir.”

“We’ll deal with the taco conundrum later. Let’s get on this poster, Jenkins.”

“The show was yesterday, sir.”

“It’s Colorado, Jenkins. There’s no oxygen and everyone’s on dope. Yesterday, tomorrow, next week. Makes no difference to those people.”

“‘Those people,’ sir?”

“Yes, I’m racist against Coloradans.”

“Wow. New one.”

“I like to be on the vanguard of bigotry. Blaze new trails of irrational hatreds.”

“Yes, sir. Who’s next?”

“People who live on the fourth floor. Violent monsters. Not even human.”

“Which fourth floor?”

“All of them. Anyone who puts their head down to sleep in between floors three and five. Fuck ’em.”

“Yes, sir.

“Lefties.”

“Lefties, sir? What did lefties ever do to you?’

“‘Do to me?’ What does that have to with racism, Jenkins?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now: the poster.”

“If we must.”

“You know how Colorado burns down every summer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put that on the poster.”

“People die in those fires, sir.”

“No, just Coloradans.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And add some drowning children. Everything’s on fire and there are dead, wet children everywhere.”

“No drowning children, sir.”

“Oh, fine. Child. Put a drowning child in the poster.”

“No amount of children, sir.”

“Well, what would Colorado love more than an out-of-control fire? Ah!”

“Please don’t say–”

“Columbine High!”

“–Columbine…sir, no.”

“Mindy stabbing Mork.”

“No.”

“Elway getting sodomized.”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Go ahead, sir.”

“Elway getting sodomized by a can of Coors Banquet beer in Joker makeup.”

“I’m leaving, sir.”

“Oh, fine. Just make the door slamming noise so everyone knows the bit’s over.”

“Yes, sir.”

SLAM!

Sell That Silver Mine

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?”

“I had an idea! Uber, but for Dead & Company posters.”

“That’s not an idea, sir.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a sentence, kinda.”

“Jenkins, I’m tired of this poster business. Let’s sell dope.”

“You want to get into the cannabis industry, sir?”

“Industry? God, no. I want to go to the bus station and deal crystal meth.”

“Why, sir?”

“I’m beginning to find respectability irksome, Jenkins. Let’s be scum.”

“I was an Eagle Scout, sir.”

“Wonderful. You’ll wear your uniform, and I can get more money for you.”

“Sir, you cannot sell meth and pimp me out at the bus station.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, because the bus station is Pretty Cleon’s territory.”

“Oh, good point. He’s a bad mother–”

“Shut your mouth, sir.”

“I’m just talking about Pretty Cleon.”

“And two: we need to get this poster done.”

“Where are they now? Butte?”

“No, sir.”

“Lake Titicaca?”

“No, sir”

“Sloppy Pussy, Georgia?’

“Not a place, sir. Dead & Company will be playing Boulder, Colorado.”

“Not much scenery in Colorado.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“Nothing but hippies and doomsday preppers. Lot of overlap between the two groups, honestly.”

“Yes, sir. The poster?”

“Jenkins, I want you to open up your mind as wide as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Wider.”

“How’s this?”

“Wider.”

“Now?”

“Too wide. I can see your childhood.”

“Sir, just get on with it.”

“An experiment, Jenkins! We shall engage in a grand experiment!”

“And that is?”

“Let’s see how much bullshit we can cram into the poster. Stuff everything we got in there, and then stuff in some more. Those bears should be pressed up against each other like soccer fans against a chain link fence.”

“I formally repudiate that last simile, sir.”

“Nope, you’re complicit.”

“Thank you, sir. What about perspectives?”

“I don’t trust the perspectives of ethnic people.”

“No, sir. On the poster.”

“Oh, every single perspective there is. It should be tough for your brain to process fully.”

“Fonts?”

“All of them.”

“Colors?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll call the boys in the art department.”

“Rather sexist of you, Jenkins.”

“You won’t hire any women, sir.”

“Oh, then that’s sexist of me. Carry on.”

Post-Minimalism

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you have the poster for the second night at the Hollywood Bowl?”

“I do, sir.”

“Oh, goody. Let’s see itJESUS, MY EYES!”

“There’s a lot going on.”

“It’s like a bar brawl raped a box of crayons.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.”

“Mrs. Woods! Mrs. Woods! Come in here and look at this poster!”

“Yes, sir. This poster? It’s rather–”

THLUMP

“See!? She’s dead Are you happy, Jenkins?”

“That could have been a coincidence.”

“Send in an intern!”

“Yes, sir? Can I help you OH IT’S IN MY HEAD MOMMYMOMMY–”

THLUMP

“How many of your colleagues does the poster have to murder, Jenkins?”

“I get it, sir.”

“It’s like staring into Satan’s asshole.”

“I don’t know about that, sir.”

“Unwashed! Dirty devil ass, Jenkins. That’s what we have here.”

“It’s too late to have a new one made.”

“The Hollywood Bowl is on the side of the Hills facing away from the sign. Ugly AND wrong. Is that why you like it, Jenkins? Makes you think of your family?”

“There’s no need for insults, sir.”

“No insult. Just fact: everyone you’re related to has a face like a foot.”

“Sir, we’re off the point.”

“Poster!”

“Poster, sir.”

“Dreadful thing. Like watching a rainbow masturbate to Riefenstahl films.”

“Wildly over-the-top, sir.”

“Most people only know her from the Nazi stuff, but the woman had a way with light comedy. Have you even seen Wessen Strudel Ist Das?”

“I haven’t, sir.”

“Delightful. Starred Uli Knoblauch, the Weimar Republic’s Clark Gable. He was later executed for war crimes, but the man could wear the scheiße out of a tux.”

“Please let’s discuss anything other than Nazi cinema, sir.”

“Do you think Pinochet played pinochle?”

“The poster, sir.”

“Poster!”

“Yes, sir. Can we release it?”

“Release it? Hell, kick it out! 86 it!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jenkins, there are shovels in the closet.”

“I’m not helping you bury Mrs. Woods and the intern, sir.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Good.”

“You’re doing it by yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

Miss Moses

deadandco shoreline poster

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?”

“What if Moses had boobies?”

“Depends, sir. Are you talking about Moses as a fat guy?”

“I didn’t say guests, Jenkins.”

“Guests, sir?”

“I combined “guy” and “breasts,” Jenkins.”

“Clever, sir.”

“Lady Moses, Jenkins. I’m seeing Cate Blanchett in the role. Matt Damon plays Pharaoh. Were there monsters in the Red Sea?”

“No, sir.”

“Then what was the third act?”

“Well, first of all, sir: this isn’t a movie we’re talking about. It’s a Bible story; they don’t have acts. Second, after Moses–

“Lady Moses, Jenkins.”

“–parts the Red Sea and leads the Jews to freedom, they all wander around the desert for forty years and then Moses dies.”

“It’s screaming for a reboot. Who owns the IP?”

“To the Bible, sir? It’s public domain.”

“You’re kidding! Jenkins, I have a great idea.”

“Please don’t say–”

“Old Testament Cinematic Universe.”

“–Old Testament…dammit, sir.”

“The Rock as Samson. The new Han Solo kid as King David.”

“Sir.”

“Brie Larson as a woman.”

“Sir.”

“How many parts should Matt Damon play? Four?”

“He’ll play as many as he wants. Never too much Damon.”

“Sir, may I remind you that the organization we work for has trouble coordinating its social media accounts with one another, or presenting a concert without resisting the urge to overlay Video Toaster graphics, or publicly taking acid onstage? We cannot launch a cinematic universe. We just need to make a poster.”

“You’re like that time Michael Jackson’s son went on a log flume, Jenkins.”

“I don’t get it, sir.”

“Wet blanket.”

“I get it, sir.”

“We’ll get Chinese funding, Jenkins. Learn the lessons of the 21st century, young man: Chinese funding is the key to everything.”

“Do the Chinese even know the Bible, sir?”

“They know it well enough to shoot people for reading it.”

“What you’re thinking of is completely beyond the capabilities of the Grateful Dead organization, sir. We could fuck up keeping sand in a bucket.”

“Oh, I doubt that, Jenkins. By the way and on a completely unrelated topic: how’s the Amazon show coming along?”

“Can we just make a decision on the poster?”

“What happened to the Wheel of Grateful Dead Bullshit?”

“John Mayer stole it and used it to pick out his outfit for last night’s show.”

“At least it has a good home. Just go with the Lady Moses idea for the poster.”

“Yes, sir. Any ideas about the font?”

“Oh, yes: turn the Illegibilizer up to “Death Metal band logo” and then back it off just a hair.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Wheel Is Turning

deadandco poster wheatland

“Jenkins! Come here and look at this!”

“I’ve fallen for this before, sir.”

“It’s not my dick, Jenkins.”

“What am I looking at, sir?”

“My last poster-related fuck. It’s flown out the window and I wanted you to say goodbye to it with me.”

“There’s only so many ways to mix and match turtles, bears, and skeletons, sir.”

“It’s like how there were eight seasons of House, MD, but there was only one season worth of stories.”

“And the posters don’t even star Lisa Edelstein, sir.”

“Has she returned my calls?”

“No, sir.”

“I would convert for her, Jenkins. To Jewishness.”

“Judaism.”

“Both. Either. Whatever. I’ll believe whatever that woman’s heinie tells me to.”

“Sir.”

“50, Jenkins! Woman is 50 years old! Forget Hanukkah, that’s a true Jewish miracle.”

“Sir.”

“Like to put my menorah in her window.”

“The menorah is–”

“Your dick, sir.”

“–my dick, Jenkins. Oh, good: you understood the metaphor.”

“May we return to the poster, sir?”

“Oh, fine. Whose turn is it to spin the Wheel of Dead Bullshit?”

“I’m up, sir.”

“Wonderful, but I’m going to do it.”

“As always, sir.”

“Here we go. Such fun!”

SPINNING NOISE

“Come on, bears!”

“Don’t let me down, skeletons!”

SPINNING NOISE

CLACK CLACK CLACK

CLACK CLACK

CLACK

“Skeleton! Yes! Write that down, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And write down that I called it because I am awesome. We should go to Vegas, Jenkins.”

“Sir.”

“Vegas, Jenkins.”

“Please just spin the Wheel of Dead Bullshit again so I can have the poster made, sir.”

“My Lord, it has been nearly forever since I’ve told you to blast your eyes, hasn’t it?”

“It has, sir.”

“Blast them, then.”

“Yes, sir. The Wheel?”

“Fine, fine.”

SPINNING NOISE

SPINNING NOISE

CLACK CLACK CLACK

CLACK CLACK

CLACK

“Turtle! There you go, Jenkins: skeleton on a turtle. Something like that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why don’t we make all of our decisions with the Wheel, Jenkins?”

“Honestly, sir? That’s a great idea.”

“Write down that it was mine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wheatland, Jenkins?”

“Apparently, sir.”

“Founded by literal-minded sons of bitches, huh?”

“Seems that way, sir.”

Call It Sleep Train

deadandco poster chula vista

“Jenkins!”

“Sir?”

“What are the ideas for the Choo-choo Valley poster?”

“Chula Vista, sir.”

“Churro Vichyssoise.”

“Chula Vista.”

“Chewy Vagina.”

“Chewy Vagina, sir? Really?”

“It’s California, Jenkins. Maybe it’s Spanish for something.”

“Can we get to the poster, sir?”

“I was thinking about letting my nine-year-old make this one.”

“She’s made the last several, sir.”

“She’s very advanced. Smarter than me.”

“I thought you said she was advanced, sir.”

“What?”

“Nothing, sir. The poster. I had ideas beyond entrusting it to a child and clip art.”

“It wasn’t clip art, Jenkins.”

“No?”

“It was an app.”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, the idea is this: let’s get an artist. Someone who can draw. With a pencil. And we’ll have the artist draw something simple, but–and here’s the key to the whole plan sir–it will be drawn well. Like, the shading will be right ,and the proportions will be correct, and also lots of little scribbly stuff in the details. Basically, the idea is to have the image be attractive to the eye.”

“How will I break this to Little Susie?”

“Your daughter’s name is Francine, sir.”

“I was talking about my mistress, Jenkins.”

“Sir, I need you to concentrate.”

“That’s what Little Susie says, too. Jenkins, am I a dreamer?”

“Sir, please just let me produce one beautiful poster on this tour. Just one. All I’m asking, sir.”

“Oh, if you’re going to whine about it: fine.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“Make sure the bears are on it.”

“I’ll find a place for them, sir.”

“And go fire my daughter.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Sky Was Yellow And The Stream Was Blue

deadandco poster gorge

They’re going all in on Those Fucking Bears, aren’t they?

I like this particular shade of yellow; other than that, I have no opinion. What do you think?

Must Have Been The Rose City

deadandco portland poster

More effort was put into this poster than the last few, it seems, but I dunno. What do you think?

Also: if you run into a man dressed as a Tree Octopus, then that is Portland’s Protector, Mr. Completely. He will not be attending the show tonight, so running into him means you have broken into his house, and please don’t do that.

Older posts Newer posts
%d bloggers like this: