Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: shoreline (page 1 of 2)

Summer’s Here And The Time Is Right For…

“Rando War.”

GodDAMMIT, no. C’mon, Bobby. Don’t do this.

“Listen, man: Grateful Deads are cyclical beasts. We’re like cicadas.”

You’re pronouncing that wrong.

“No, Garcia pronounced it wrong. I say it right.”

Bobby, please don’t start another Rando War.

“Don’t think of it like that.”

How should I think of it?

“Like the last Rando War never ended.”

Eisenhower warned us about the Rando-Industrial Complex.

“Lot of jobs depend on this happening. It’s realpolitik.”

Randpolitik.

“Both. My advice, you know, is to start profiteering immediately.”

I’ve heard worse advice.

“I’ve given worse advice.”

“Rando War?”

Don’t you have a Shipoopi number to write?

“Musicals write themselves.”

They don’t.

“My rando is taller than Bobby’s. Point: Chimenti.”

Is that how this works?

“Maybe.”

“But my rando has a giant hat!”

Aw, come on.

“Look at this fucker’s big hat!”

It’s a sizable chapeau.

“Game on, motherfucker.”

RANDO WAR IS NOT A GAME, JOSH MEYERS!

“You didn’t need to yell.”

It’s D-Day. You have some respect on D-Day.

“Sorry.”

Yes, you are.

Kicky Hart

Why are you like this?

“Someone’s got to be.”

Yeah?

“I’m a shaman.”

Yeah?

“Shamanistic, at least. The magic comes out from everywhere. Sometimes, the magic comes from my dainty little drum brushes; sometimes, from a pair of lady’s clogs. Sometimes, the magic comes out of my dick. Magic everywhere.”

What’s in the Fiji bottle?

“Stoli.”

Good talk.

Up, Up In The Air In My Acceptable Balloon

“Jenkins!”

“I’m right here, sir. No need to yell.”

“No need to backhand you, either.”

“What?”

WHAP!

“Oh.”

“See what I did there?”

“Comedic misdirection. Delightful, sir. Well worth the slap.”

“Oh, grow a pair, Jenkins. Now, let’s get to the poster. Shoreline!”

“Shoreline, sir.”

“Iowa?”

“No.”

“Wyoming?”

“No, sir. Shoreline.”

“Afghanistan.”

“Now you’re just saying landlocked places, sir.”

“No Kabul shows this tour?”

“Maybe next summer.”

“Shame. Excellent Shakedown in Kabul. You can get anything.”

“I’d imagine, sir.”

“Literally anything. Weapons, slaves, drugs, veggie burritos. And no Nitrous Mafia.”

“You can’t get nitrous? I thought you said you could get anything.”

“Oh, you can get nitrous. I said there’s no Nitrous Mafia. Taliban executed them a few years ago.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“And their families.”

“Also okay with that. Sir, we need to get back on track.”

“Poster!”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have an idea for this one. Old-timey.”

“Okay. Any specific movement or style, sir?”

“Nope! Old-timey!”

“Yes, sir. Bear, turtle, or skeleton?”

“Bring me my decision-making darts, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir.”

WHOOSH

THWUNK

“Turtle it is, sir. Any thoughts on the font?”

“Drippy.”

“Yes, sir. You do know there are two shows, right? Shouldn’t we make two posters?”

WHAP!

“One poster it is, sir.”

“Quick learner, Jenkins.”

“I try, sir.”

Basest Solos

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Taking a load off.”

I see that.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but the Grateful Dead rarely featured full-blown bass solos.”

No, they didn’t.

“For a reason.”

Uh-huh.

“But, you know, Branford loves doing ’em. Bless his heart.”

His name is Oteil.

“Agree to disagree.”

You don’t even want to comp behind him or anything?

“I’m not encouraging bass solos. Mickey used to toss used chewing gum into Phil’s hair when he did ’em. I’m not gonna go that far, but I won’t participate.”

You’re a man of principle.

“And I wanted to sit down.”

That, too.

Partners In Skank

mickey billy onstage talking

“Mick, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you: get on the skank train.”

“My back, Billy.”

“I got pills for that.”

“Didn’t Bobby steal those?”

“I got new ones.”

“What about my boner?”

“I got pills for that, too. C’mon, Hart: you and me. Like the old days. We can give a chick the Whopper.”

“Two all-beef drummers, special sauce, anal please, pickled teen fox on a Holiday Inn bed?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Billy, I just want to play my drums. I can’t act like I’m in my 20’s any more.”

“I can get you a book deal.”

“Gimme some boner pills.”

“Summer of skank!”

Double Date

rando hotties

Hello, ladies. You two look spiritual, but not religious.

“Such a good way to describe it.”

“I’m gonna make that into a hashtag.”

“Who are you?”

“What are you?”

“And why bring it here?”

“Are you from a gross place?”

“You look like you’re from a gross place.”

“You look like a fuckboy.”

You both have powerful chins; your clothes are small.

“Which one of us is hotter?”

“Tell us, fuckboy.”

“I asked you a question.”

“She asked you a question.”

“Listen to my friend when she tells you to listen to me.”

“Hotness, fuckboy. Grade ours.”

Each of you is hotter than the other one.

“Threaded the needle there, fuckboy.”

“Could have started an ancient war.”

“Answering that question wrong starts ancient wars, fuckboy.”

“Do you even know what we’re talking about?”

“A book, fuckboy.”

“Do you read, fuckboy?”

“Or just look at things?”

“Which safety school did you go to, fuckboy?”

You two are mean.

“RIGHT, BRO? FUCKIN’ BITCHES!”

“TOO GOOD FOR THIS GOOD DICK, THOSE WHORES!”

Wow, do I not endorse either of those statements.

randos wheatland

“SHOT US DOWN, TOO, BROTHER!”

“FUCKIN’ LESBIAN SLUT-WOMEN!”

I don’t suppose you two know Captain Fuck?

“HE’S OUR DAD, BRAH!”

“WE’RE THE FUCK TWINS!”

I’m not doing this bit any more; it’s just too dumb.

Soft Launch

bobby pretty rando.jpg

Bob, I can see your nipples.

“It’s cold.”

Okay.

“I’m gonna miss the randos, I’ll tell you that.”

Miss? You’ll be home for a couple weeks. You just announced tour dates on your new website.

“Oh, right. Yeah. Tours kinda blend together at this point.”

At this point?

“Maybe always.”

Sure.

“I, uh, checked my website.”

Didja?

“There’s a badly-cropped picture of me.”

Uh-huh.

“And that’s it. Well, and my name. But there’s not enough pixels, it seems.”

What about the tour dates, or the information about your new album, Blue Mountain, which comes out September 30th?

“That’s some good plugging. Thanks.”

My pleasure. Back to the site. Did you find the information?

“Just the fuzzy picture of me.”

Bobby?

“Yeah?”

What league the Tamalpais Chiefs in?

“Bush, apparently. I gotta make a call.”

A shame you don’t know anyone in the tech industry who could’ve helped with this sort of thing.

“Go bother Phil.”

Is She Really Going Out With Him?

rando hottie socks
Hi, there. Your socks are almost pants.

“Can clothing be ‘almost’ pants?”

Sure. You seen Bobby lately?

“I’ve noticed he has extra drawstrings on his trousers.”

Right? Like ten or twelve of them.

“What do they cinch?”

Got me. What fun we’re having. Do you know I once wrote a crime novel about a private detective named Legs Warner?

“Did you really?”

No, but I should.

“It’s not a terrible name.”

Are we dating now? If we are, I hope you’re rich.

“We are not. In fact–”

You have a boyfriend.

“–I have a boyfriend. Oh, there he is.”

Cant wait to see this one.

“WHO WANTS A NITROUS BALLOON ANIMAL?”

rando clown shorline

Who are you supposed to be, Wavy Gravy?

“NO, I’M HIS SON. WAVY DAVY.”

I quit.

An Arch-Enemy Returned, Kinda

hottie shoreline shades

Hello, my name is Thoughts on the Dead. You can call me TotD. I like your sunglasses, and your eyeballs.

“You almost got to the end of your statement without being weird.”

The word “necklace” is half lie: it’s around your neck, but there’s no lace involved.

“Do you talk to actual women like this?”

I don’t talk to actual women.

“You totally should.”

Well, thank you for encouraging me.

“Not me, though.”

Your hair reminds me of a warm, safe place.

“Where as a child you roamed?”

I didn’t do a ton of roaming as a kid. Liked staying inside then, too.

“Will you go buy me ice cream?”

You want ice cream?

“I didn’t say that.”

Was “go” the key word in that sentence?

“Little bit.”

“SHHHHH.”

Did you just shush me?

“That wasn’t me.”

“SHHHHH! Shhh! Shhh.”

Oh, you gotta be kidding me.

sailor hat shoreline

“Shhh.”

NEMESIS! You’re the guy who shushed me and Martin in Chicago!

“No, I’m not.”

“But I am doing his job now.”

Dammit.

“Shh.”

Fuck you, Shushface.

“That’s Commodore Shushface to you.”

You know Captain Fuck?

“Answers to me. Man’s a disgrace to the uniform.”

He wasn’t wearing a uniform.

“That’s because he lost it, which is the disgrace.”

Oh.

“Shh.”

Drumz Not Drums

mickey drone not drones

As you can see, Mickey was repping an outfit called “Drone Not Drones” which did not have a hit single with Walk the Dinosaur in the 80’s. It is instead a charity of some sort, and their gimmick is to play drone music for lethal amounts of time, which is honestly better than all that pink bullshit the NFL forces the players to wear in November.

TotD admires the Dead for the political stands they’ve taken as of late, mostly because I agree with them, but I cannot fall in line behind Mickey in this case; I feel he is giving drone warfare a bad rap.

War is messy, and sometimes there is a wedding full of people that–for tactical purposes–needs to explode. Before drones, that could not be accomplished without putting a white person in danger. Now, weddings and hospitals and schools and the occasional historical site can be destroyed with no risk to any white person, and that’s better. It’s not better for the people at the weddings, but it is much better for the white people and that’s the metric we’re judging this by.

Some will ask why the weddings needed to explode in the first place, but those people are fucking Commies.

Finally, John Cale has nothing to do with drone warfare. Point: drone warfare.

Sorry, Mick.

Older posts
%d bloggers like this: