Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: rando (page 2 of 9)

Which Way Did He Go, Which Way Did He Go?

It’s like a Rando sandwich.

“Randwich.”

Nicely done. Hey, good work on closing down for that Day Without Immigrants thing.

“Gotta do what’s right.”

Yes, you do.

“Plus, Mondays are always slow. Didn’t really affect the month’s numbers.”

You should probably leave the second thing out when you talk about it.

“It’s a business, jackass.”

True. What did the busboys do with their day off?

“Day off? The fuck you mean? Just because the restaurant was closed doesn’t mean they had the day off.”

You made the immigrants work on the Day Without Immigrants?

“I didn’t make them work.”

Okay.

“I let them work.”

Great.

I Need A Rando ‘Bout Twice My Height

Bobby, do you need help?

“Well, you know: no man is an island. But, I’m okay currently.”

It looks like you’re pleading for assistance with your eyes.

“He’s awful close.”

You need Precarious?

“No, I think this one’s friendly. Not gonna lie: smells nice. Like a lemon tree.”

That’s one big rando.

“You bet. He should probably have to buy two tickets to the show.”

Good idea. Like fat people on airlines.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe we could start overbooking, too.”

Bill Graham used to do that, but he called it “bribing the fire marshal.”

“Ah.”

In Which A New Concept Is Introduced

Oh, Bobby, please tell me this isn’t–

“Tour family.”

–a tour family. Dammit. Why do you have a tour family?

“Remind me why I do it all. At the end of the day, it’s all for Baby Randa.”

Sweet. Different one each tour?

“Sure, yeah. Otherwise, they’re just your regular family.”

You dying your hair, buddy?

“It’s not a dye. It was sold to me as a tinted leave-in treatment.”

Ah.

Fuzzy

Bobby?

“Uh-oh.”

Bobby, I think the bottom half of the universe is decohering.

“I’ve seen this before. Besmudgement. It’s not, you know, optimal.”

Do you know what to do?

“Y’have to think real sharp thoughts at it.”

Even for this universe, that doesn’t make sense.

“World’s getting weird, what can I say?”

What’s that?

“Mm?”

That.

“This?”

No.

“This?”

Yes.

“Vape.”

Oh, Bobby.

“I’m very thoughtfully entering the vape life.”

At least tell me it’s doobie in there.

“Well, yeah. You, uh, thought I stopped at the gas station and got a canister of Tooty Frooty-flavored nicotine juice?”

No. Okay, a little. What’s wrong with joints?

“They set my beard on fire.”

Sure.

“When I shave the ol’ boy down a little, then I’ll twist one up, but when he gets fluffy and powerful like this? Like dry season in the hills. Any spark and boom.”

The rando is into you, man.

“Well, you know, part of what makes ’em randos is that they love the Dead. Self-selecting group, is what I’m saying.”

Very true. You read Josh’s article in the Times?”

“Yup, yup.”

Any thoughts?

“Eclipses must’ve scared the crap outta people in the old days.”

Any thoughts about Josh’s article?

“Ah. Well, no real specific advice or anything. I’m just wondering about the Japanese clothes.”

Right?

“You can get clothes in America.”

All kinds.

“Maybe there’s a category of garment that we don’t know about. Something, you know: we can’t even imagine.”

Josh Meyer’s Japanese clothes are an Outside Context problem?

“Yeah, sure. We’re incapable of even conceptualizing the stuff.”

So how did Josh find out about it?

“Internet?”

Sure.

Weir Everywhen

Why are you making that face?

“This is, uh, Bobby Picture Pose #1.”

Right, but you don’t start doing your poses for at least 20 years.

“Uh-huh. I don’t know if you’ve been, you know, apprised of the situation, but time’s getting real slippery.”

Have you spoken to Phil?

“Phil from when?”

Mid-80’s.

“Y’know, I been meaning to give him a call. Hanging out a lot with 2015 Phil.”

Why?

“Free meals.”

Sure. Question.

“There’s a lot of dinosaurs.”

Are there dino…okay. Yeah, this is all Phil’s fault.

“Yeah?”

Yeah. He absconded with the Time Sheath–

“TIME SCARF!”

–and…dammit.

“YOU CALL THAT DEVICE O’ NIGH-ON INFINITE POWER BY ISS RIGHTFUL NAME, BOY.”

I am. It’s a Time Sheath.

“Hey, Elvis.”

“HELLO THERE, YOUNG MAN. AH BELIEVE AH KNOW YER FATHER.”

“No, that’s me 30 years from now.”

“YOU OUGHTA MOISTURIZE MORE, BOY. YOU ONE O’ THEM GRATEFUL DEADS?”

“Yeah, I’m the Bobby. I mean, my name’s Bobby, but I am also the Bobby.”

“BOY, AH’M GONNA ASK YOU A QUESTION AN’ AH DO NOT WANT YOU T’ GET OFFENDED.”

“Okee-doke.”

“YOU SLOW?”

“Just my tempos.”

“STOP TALKIN’ IN CIRCLES AN’ RIDDLES, HIPPIE! WE GOT TIMESTREAMS A-JUMPIN’ THEIR BANKS AN’ A-FLOODIN’ UP ON PEOPLE’S VERANDAS!”

“And dinosaurs.”

“AND DINOSAURS. LAST NIGHT, A PACK O’ RAPTORS ATE MAH STANKY, UNLETTERED, SNAGGLETOOTHED WEASEL’S ASSHOLE OF A DADDY–”

“Vernon.”

Vernon.

“VERNON. CHARLIE HODGE IS BRINGIN’ DADDY SCARVES AN’ WATER IN HEAVEN NOW!”

Did the raptors eat Charlie Hodge, too?

“CHARLIE HODGE LOST HIS LIFE IN A CONCURRENT, BUT UNRELATED, INCIDENT.”

You shot him?

“AH DID. OUT OF MAH GRIEF, AH DID. ALSO AH WANTED TO.”

Sure, but now you don’t have anyone to bring you your scarves and water.

“GOT THAT COVERED. SENSEI BENJY?”

“Yeah, King?”

“WHEN ARE YOU?”

“King, I’m in the 90’s.”

“WHATCHOO DOIN’ THEN?”

“I am teaching some inner-city youth about the beauty of poetry by using Phish lyrics.”

“HOWZAT GOIN’?”

“Not well. Phish’s lyrics are terrible. Plus, an entire row of kids got eaten by dinosaurs.”

“THESE THUNDER-LIZARDS IS BECOMIN’ A NUISANCE!”

“Yeah, and I’m almost out of chalk.”

“SENSEI BENJY, YOU MUST USE YER POWERS T’ BRING BACK MAH EYEBROW-LESS, MANGE-COVERED, PAROLE-VIOLATIN’ HOMUNCULUS OF A DADDY–”

“Vernon.”

Vernon.

“Vernon.”

“Bobby, is that you?”

“Hey, Benjy.”

“–VERNON. AN’ ALSO CHARLIE HODGE, IF’N YOU GOT SOME TIME. JOURNEY T’ TH’ NETHERWORLD LIKE ORPHEUS AN’ RETURN WHAT AH LOVE SO MUCH, AN’ ALSO CHARLIE HODGE.”

“Yeah. Uh. Elvis? It doesn’t actually work that way. I don’t think I can, like, bring people back.”

“YOU DON’ THINK? SO YOU NEVER TRIED?”

“Well, no. But I’m pretty sure that I can’t brin–”

THWIP

“Et tu, Elvis?”

flump

“THAT COMMIE SUMBITCH GAVE ME SOME POSION DARTS.”

Of course.

“HAIRLESS GARCIA STILL HERE?”

“HAIRLESS GARCIA!? WHERE AND WHEN ARE YOU?”

“HAIRLESS!”

“Does he think that’s my name?”

Yes.

“Ah. Uh, Elvis?”

“THERE YOU IS. OR, THEN YOU IS. AH AM NOT QUITE SURE WHASS GOIN’ ON HERE. OR NOW.”

“You just gotta roll with it until he runs out of pictures.”

“OR SOMETIMES HE JUST GETS BORED.”

“Also an option.”

“BUT F’R NOW WE GOT DINOSAURS AN’ TIME SHENANIGANS T’ FIX UP. TELL YER KING WHERE YER BASS PLAYER IS.”

“Phil?”

“AH DID’N ASK WHAT HIS NAME WAS, AH ASKED WHERE HE WAS. AH AIN’T NEVER ASKED NO BASS PLAYER’S NAME, BOY!”

“Good philosophy.”

“ISS SERVED ME WELL SO FAR. AW RIGHT, HAIRLESS GARCIA. LESS GO ADVENTURIN’ THROUGH TIME T’ DEFEAT COMMUNISM.”

“You bet.”

“Excuse me?”

Yes? Who are you?

“The guy with Bobby in the jacket.”

Ah. Randos don’t get speaking parts.

“Where am I?”

It’s complicated, but it’s over.

“What.”

Post’s done. All finished here.

“So what do I do?”

After I leave?

“Yeah?”

You read your Bible, Rando?

“Yeah.”

You’re in Limbo.

“For how long?”

You should have brought a book.

“Oh.”

Later.

Speedway

“Randos.”

Well, obviously.

“On the, uh, on the way here I was convinced there wouldn’t be any Randos for me.”

There will always be Randos for you, Bobby.

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

You tell me.

“Depends on the day, really.”

Sure.

“Dunno why I was nervous. People here couldn’t be nicer. Tell ya what: you thought a Dead crowd had a lotta drugs on them, you should come to a race.”

Really?

“That infield’s like Alphabet City in 1975. I have been offered elephant tranquilizer by, like, nine people.”

Don’t take elephant tranquilizer, Bobby.

“LISSEN T’HIM, MAN. AH WANT YOU IN TIPPITY-TOP SHAPE FOR TH’ BIG RACE!”

Goddammit.

Elvis, get off the track.

“IF AH CANNOT KARATE WITH HAIRY GARCIA, THEN AH WILL RACE WITH HIS YOUNGER BROTHER BOB SEGER.”

I have no response to that statement.

“LOOK AT ALL THAT SISSY STUFF DRIVERS GOTTA WEAR. KING DON’T EVEN NEED NO HELMET.”

That’s because you’re on a soundstage in front of a rear projection screen.

“TH’ KING DOES ALL HIS OWN STUNTS! NOW STRAP THAT SANDAL-WEARIN’ HIPPIE INNA CAR!”

Stop yelling at me.

“THE CARS IS VERY LOUD!”

Oh, right.

“AH AM A BLACK BELT-LEVEL RACE DRIVER. TH’ OTHER NIGHT, AH RACED JOE ESPOSITO AN’ JERRY SCHILLING DOWN ELVIS PRESLEY BOULEVARD.”

And?

“IT IS NOT A CLOSED STREET. IN FACT, ISS A MAJOR THOROUGHFARE. CRASHED INTO A DANG FUNERAL PROCESSION.”

That’s terrible.

“THEY WAS ALREADY GOIN’ TO TH’ CEMETERY!”

“Don’t rationalize it.”

“RUBBIN’ IS RACIN’!”

Not on a public street.

“ISS MAH STREET! NOW GET BOB SEGER OUT HERE AN’ WAVE TH’ DINGDANG FLAG!”

His name’s not Bob Seger, and he does not race cars.

“I’ll race with you, Elvis.”

“PASS.”

Jesus, John.

“What?”

You’re coming across as very needy.

“I miss being part of storylines.”

Summer’s coming, buddy.

“I hate this universe.”

Rock And Ruin

“Ass!”

Hey, Billy.

“Look at this shit! Got some pyramids, a rando, my lucky red hat: life’s good.”

You look happy.

“Gotta tell ya, though: these Mayans couldn’t build for shit. Half these suckers don’t even have roofs.”

They’re ruins, Billy. They didn’t look like that a thousand years ago.

“We don’t know that.”

You think they built them that way? Crumbling?

“The fuck do I know? I’m not a Mayan. Shit, I’m not even a Mexican. You should ask Garcia.”

Garcia’s not Mexican, either.

“Sure he was. Is. Whatever. Mexican as shit.”

No he isn’t. Wasn’t. Whatever.

“I’m pretty sure Garcia was Mexican. If he wasn’t, then why’d we pick him up for band practice outside the Home Depot?”

Jesus, Billy.

“How many kids he have?”

Please stop talking.

“A Mexican amount! What is it: seven, eight? There’s Tricky.”

Trixie.

“Abalone.”

Annabelle.

“Gypsy Danger.”

That’s a giant robot.

“Good kids. Love those kids, but they’re Mexican. You should see ’em get over a wall.”

We’re done.

“We haven’t even talked about skank!”

Your racism and lies have ruined the skank. Are you happy?

“A little.”

Phil Looks Great

The Core Four is back, Enthusiasts.

OR

When Bobby was a young man, his parents were murdered by a camera in a mugging outside a movie theater; this explains why he looks at them this way now.

OR

“Thoughts on my Ass!”

Hey, Billy.

“Skaaaaaaaaank.”

Stop that. She looks lovely and respectable.

“This is a film festival. No one here is respectable.”

Yeah, okay.

“Ginger skank.”

Stop it.

“Great thing about redheads is that you can bring ’em around your color-blind friends and they don’t get hit on.”

Color-blind people can see redheads, Billy.

“Not from my experience. Weir’s cockblocking me here a little, though.”

Don’t hit on her.

“She got chest freckles, man.”

Still.

“Gonna give her a log flume.”

“Gonna give her a log flume.”

“Gonna give–”

What’s a log flume, Billy?

“Everything’s real gentle at first, and then I go down without warning.”

We’re done.

“Winter of Skank!”

Dammit.

Babble

You look like you’re standing outside your family farm watching the sheriff drive up the road to serve your eviction papers.

“How so?”

Defiant and hardscrabble.

“I would disagree with hardscrabble. My life has contained nothing but the easiest scrabble.”

True.

“Y’think ‘hardscrabble,’ and you got what? Pioneer people, right?”

Sure. Sod house in the middle of nowhere.

“Chores at four in the morning. That’s hardscrabble. At four in the morning, I was usually enjoying cocaine and attractive strangers. That scrabble is very easy, y’see?”

Sure.

“Plus, uh, Josh gave me some facial scrub nonsense. Smells like pine. Opens your pores right up.”

Yeah?

“Right afterwards, you could stick a pinky finger in your pore. Biggest pores you’ve ever seen.”

That’s what you want, I guess.

“And it smells like pine.”

Who’s This Clown?

bobby-rando-flappy-hat

“Putin involved in this thing now?

Just visiting.

“Uh-huh.”

Rando’s touching the problem shoulder.

“It’s, uh, a lot better. Up to par, up to snuff. On an even keel with Righty.”

You named your shoulders?

“No, I call my shoulders by their names.”

I see the distinction. Glad to hear about the shoulder. What’d you do?

“At first?”

We know what you did at first. It’s on YouTube. What have you been doing for it lately?

“Ah. The ancient Indian art of chutney.”

I’m pretty sure that’s not it, but what are talking about?

“You trace a mandala in the air in the disappearing orbit of motion: not just gone, but never quite there in the first place.”

The thing where you swing the clubs around?

“Yeah, that.”

Oh, I thought you were learning to juggle.

“No, I learned that in the bunkhouse.”

So much happened to you that summer.

“Crazy characters, wild tales. But, yeah: one of the guys in there knew all that clown stuff: juggling, and fire-eating, and pickpocketing. Name was Patches.”

Wait, I thought Patches was the blind cowboy.

“Yeah, uh-huh. But that Patches died within hours of leaving the bunkhouse for the first time. And, you know: can’t let a great nickname like that just sit fallow.”

Okay.

“Great guy the second Patches. Escaped from the circus.”

You don’t have to escape from the circus, Bob.

“He did.”

Right.

“Really a superb guy. Didn’t last long, though. You know the trick where all the clowns come out of the little car?

Of course.

“Can’t substitute a horse for the car. Angers the horse.”

I would bet. This Patches died, too?

“He lived through the stomping.  Strong work ethic, circus folk. Back at work the next day. Unfortunately, he was mysteriously mauled to death by a tiger that afternoon.”

Where’d the tiger come from?

“That’s why it was mysterious.”

Right.

“Went to his funeral. Traditional clown service: the wreath squirted water at ya, all the balloon animals were black, whole deal.”

Sounds moving.

“Pallbearers wore their squeaky shoes, though.”

Tough to maintain composure.

“You bet.”

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