- Keith’s was the biggest, but Ramrod got that name for a reason.
- Nah, fuck expiration dates; that’s just Big Dairy trying to squeeze an extra dollar out of you.
- We don’t speak any more.
- Wally knows what he did.
- One finger is cool, but any more than that and you’re gay.
- Gropius? Fuckin’ Gropius? Gropius couldn’t wipe Mies van der Rohe’s ass after Taco Tuesday.
- Okay, yeah, I’ll give you the couch; Gropius could design the fuck out of a couch.
- I’m talking big picture here, man.
- I never punched anyone, cuz you could break your knuckle on someone’s jaw real easy, man; what I did was the old-school Bunny Foo Foo head bop: closed fist WHOMP right on the crown of the skull.
- On tour, we used to hide a toy in the cereal box for Bobby to find, because he’d be a nightmare all day if he didn’t.
- We were brothers, man, we were brothers and one of the things about being a brother is treating your sisters like shit.
- Of course I would ride a unicorn, man.
- There was nothing underneath Brent’s beard.
- Just a void.
- If you stared into it for more than a second, you’d wander around fucked-up for a week or so.
- Number one rule to being a roadie is to wear a vest; after that, you know, you gotta set the equipment up and whatever.
- I never saw TC naked, but he offered quite a bit.
Go check it out, unless you’re allergic to Reddit, which is an excellent choice.
Okay, Enthusiasts: this is a tough one. Name:
- The show.
- The activity.
- The song that caused the activity.
Winner gets an angry cat thrown at them. GO!
Hey, Parish. Rando War?
“Fuck, yeah. Gonna smoke this joint, take a piss, and break this fucker’s arm.”
“Prostate’s the size of a volleyball. I go every 20 minutes.”
Not the pissing. Why are you gonna break the rando’s arm?
“Old time’s sake. I don’t get to hit anyone anymore.”
Y’know, you’re overstating the Dead crew’s violence just a bit. You guys weren’t Led Zeppelin.
“Nah, shit no. We weren’t just goons. We didn’t hit people for no reason.”
“It’s just that people were always giving us reasons to hit them.”
Well, this rando hasn’t.
“Give him a minute.”
Please don’t hurt randos, Parish.
“It’s a Rando War. Gonna be some deaths.”
“Not true, love. There have been and always will be a great deal of mortality in Rando War, innit? Nature of the gimmick, right?”
Oh, I know that accent.
What is happening here, Sam Cutler?
“Oi am making Rando Love, not Rando War.”
None of this makes sense.
“Also, Oi just dosed you. Ta.”
If there is a camera within 100 feet of him, Bobby can sense it. And glare at it.
An incomplete list of Parish’s strengths:
- Roadie strength.
- Big guy strength.
- Old guy strength.
- Crazy guy strength.
If Parish grabs you, you’re grabbed.
The fellow in the blue is Steve Silberman. He wrote the indispensable Skeleton Key: A Dictionary For Deadheads, which was a bit of a tangible shibboleth of Deadheadedness in the 90’s: every single Deadhead owned this book. (Of course, there were fewer books about the Dead back then, as opposed to the shelves’ worth you see today.) And he’s in Long Strange Trip, where he does a wonderful thing by discussing the Deafheads, who should be brought up often and loudly.
“Who’s your favorite band?”
“Oh, they’re cool. My favorite band is so good that even Deaf people listen to them. Checkmate.”
Nice pants, Bobby.
“They were sold to me as a ‘clingy slack.'”
Is there spandex in there?
“They got a lot of give.”
That’s Bobby’s wife, Natasha Monster, and she’s in Long Strange Trip, too; everything she says is eminently reasonable to the point where you wonder how she got involved with a Grateful Dead.
Old Dog, New Trixie aired on UPN in 2005; the plot centered around newlyweds Trixie and Amir Bar-Lev dealing with her sons, his daughters, and Steve Parish, a roadie with the Grateful Dead who has taken them all hostage. But–and here’s the twist–they learn to love the old coot, and he moves in. TC played the wacky next-door neighbor, and it was cancelled during its first commercial break.
It really is a fetching haircut.
“Don’t talk to me.”
Just being nice.
“Parish is literally right here. Look at his face.”
Have a nice night.
I would like someone to put this photo in a Stealie, put in on a tee-shirt, and give it to me.
Enthusiasts, this is the rarest photograph of all: The Feeding of Snake Tee-Shirt.
“Who sssaid my name?”
Hey, Snake Tee-Shirt.
You miss your guy?
“I ssstill fit him! I would make him look sssexy!”
Don’t do this, Snake Tee-Shirt. Move on.
“I can’t forget the feel of hisss ssskin.”
Ew. What do you eat, anyway?
“Sssocksss with picturesss of ratsss on them.
What is going on here?
“Pointin’ at randos! Gonna hit one in a bit.”
Randos are paying you to hit them?
“What’s a better story for a Deadhead than getting hit by Parish? That’s elite, man. Like getting tossed from Winterland by Bill Graham himself.”
They just walk up to you and pay you to hit them?
“No, that’s ridiculous.”
“Peter Shapiro sets up the deals.”
Parish, stop looking for people to hit.
“I’m not looking for people to hit.”
“I’m scanning to see who needs hitting.”
“To not hit someone who requires it does a disservice to them, and to society in general.”
You know Danny McBride is gonna play you on the Amazon show, right?
“Ooh, look. I just found someone who needs hitting.”
Parish had been a drummer for the Grateful Dead for five minutes when he threw a tantrum, punched the rest of the band, and flew home.
“It feels nice on your back, Jer.”
“Don’t rub my back, Weir.”
“Parish! Oh, you’re right there.”
Either Mrs. Donna Jean is shaking her maracas, or Phil has the daintiest hands I’ve seen on a man since politics politics politics.
In a karate fight with improvised weapons that took place in a drum store, cabasa vs. maracasa is an even match up: cabasa is good for a hammer-type blow, while you can wield the maracas like sai. Obviously, a guiro is of no use whatsoever in karate fighting. Optimally, you would stand at a distance and frisbee ride cymbals at your opponent’s neck as hard as you could.
This shot’s from 6/4/78 at the University of California at Santa Barbara. (Go Banana Slugs!)
If you make t-shirts, then Mickey will be there.
Major league potato salad.
Feeling nostalgic, Parish picked a fat guy with a beard at random, and then punched someone for getting to close to him.
There are at least three couples having kayak-sex in McCovey Cove behind Mickey.
Why, Jake Peavey, how do you do?
“Fine. Thank you. Nice to meet a fan.”
Look at you all poured into that uniform. What’s your batting average?
“I’m a pitcher.”
I was hoping.
What kind of grip do you use on your balls, Jake Peavey?
“Just one E in the last name.”
One E, got it. What about a D?
“Listen, man: I’m in a relationship. We met at a show. Right on Shakedown.”
That sounds like a bad idea.
“No, it’s wonderful. I’m very happy. Oh, there they are.”
“YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH POLYAMORY, BIGOT?”
“LOVE IS LOVE!”
You guys know Captain Fuck?
“HE MARRIED US!”
“AND THEN FUCKED US!”