Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: trey anastasio (page 1 of 8)

Bright-Eyed Katy

“Pretty lady is pretty, Trey.”

“She is, Page, but she’s more than just a pretty lady. She’s a big-time reporter.”


“She’s not secretly Superman, Page.”

“Oh, right, right. Okay.”


“No, Page. All reporters are not secretly Superman. I don’t know who told you that, but they were messing with you.”

“Is she Spider-Man?”

“She has no super-powers at all, buddy. Although, she put up with Keith Olbermann’s bullshit for a few years, so maybe she does.”


“Big media joke, pal. Don’t worry about it.”

“What does she do?”

“Katy? Well, she covered the Trump campaign for NBC.”

“He is bad!”

“He is, buddy.”

“I don’t like him!”

“I’m with you.”

“He is orange! Presidents should be black!”

“Could not agree more, man.”

“Trump should not be around Katy. He will chain her up and make her wear a metal bikini.”

“She’s safe now, Pagey. She’s with us.”

“Okay. I like her better than Jake Tapper.”

“Everyone does.”


“Yeah, buddy?”

“What doughnut is it?”

“We’re not doing that anymore.”


Something Sweet

You know Annabelle and Trixie, but those are Trey’s daughters, Kay and Fay, on the outside.

Another Bella Figura

“Just explain to me your thought process while you were getting dressed.”

“Hey, man: some of  us don’t want to look like suburban dads.”

“I am a suburban dad. Did the pants come first or the scarf?”

“Scarf. The scarf is the fulcrum of the outfit.”

“And then the pants?”

“No, then the lipstick.”

“Right, yeah, the lipstick.”

“The shade is Canary Sparkle.”

“Awesome, pal.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m Page.”

“How long’s that thing anyway?”

“My dick?”

“The scarf.”


“Why would I ask about your dick?”

“Lots of people ask me about my dick. I’m a rock star.”

“Yeah, I could tell by the pants.”

“My pants are awesome, Trey.”

“Your legs look like a yuppie’s living room from 1983.”

“I’m fashion forward.”

“You’re fashion forewarned.”

“Not clever.”

“Seriously: how long is the scarf? It looks like a blanket for a very thin person. Like, if Slenderman took a nap on the couch, that’s what he would cover himself up with.”

“I’m gonna walk back over there now.”

“Don’t trip on your giant scarf.”

“Blow me.”

Get Your Stinking Hands Off Her, You Damn Dirty Drummer

The people online calling this adorable don’t understand guitar players or human body language. Trample Amplestample wants to headbutt Fishman and take back the Laser Duck.

That’s No Lady, That’s My Gaga

“You ever meet Lady Gogo?”

“Gaga, Bob.”

“Goo goo, Trot. Anyway, she’s a little bitty thing. Might be an elf.”

“I don’t think Lady Gaga’s an elf. She’s from New Jersey.”

“Ah, well, yeah. That’s where the elf community settled after the war. Mostly around Teaneck.”

“How about that.”

“But, you know, I don’t judge.”

“You’re not bigoted against elves?”

“Nope. Good folks. Now, pixies can go fuck ’emselves.”

“Bob, do you know the words to this song?”

“About as well as you know the chords.”


Walk Along That Lonesome Trail

“Are you all right, Troy?”

“Yeah, Bob.”

“You’re hunching.”

“I’m going with the music. I’m really feeling it.”

“You gotta use the can? Shouldn’t hold it in.”

“I’m good.”


“Is it your back? I got pills for that.”

“No, thank you.”

Together Again, Again

“Are you back in the band?”

“Just siting in, Bob.”

“The kid’s working out, but if you want in, then say the word.”

“I got plans this summer. We’re playing the Garden.”


“This summer. We’re gonna start playing Memorial Day and end on Labor Day.”

“Wow. Do you wanna borrow Red Metal Stool?”

“I’d rather have a seat that wasn’t sentient.”

“It’s not optimal. He’s a bit of a whiner.”

“You could just buy a normal one, Bob.”

“Not the Grateful Dead way, Troy.”

“Sure. Hey, you wanna play a Lady Gaga song?”

“You bet.”

The Grand Delusion


“Trey, are those letters on the smelly lady’s dress?”

“No, Pagey. Those are just donuts.”

“I like donuts.”

“You sure do.”

“Too many makes my tummy hurt. And then I need the potty.”


“No, I need the potty.”

“Oh. It’s right over there, buddy. Do you need me to go with you?”

“I can do it! All by myself, I can do it!”

“Okay, okay.”

“Will you still be in Phish when I get back?”



“Trey, I can’t keep it up much longer. I’m gonna say something.”

“Fishman, you shut the fuck up or I’ll split your lip.”

“How long we gotta pretend we don’t know!?”

“When Page wants to tell us he’s not retarded, then he’ll tell us! It might be, like, psychologically damaging or something.”

“Dude, it’s not like waking a sleep-walker.”

“You’re actually supposed to wake sleep-walkers.”

“Oh, totally: they could fall down the fucking stairs.”

“Right? Such a stupid myth. Trey, I’m gonna say something.”


“Why not?”

“Fishman, have you ever seen Page’s contract? Didn’t you ever wonder why you got so much more than a quarter of the money?”


“I was trying to call his bluff! No one would ever sign what he signed unless…you know…but I’ll give it to the fucker: he commits to a lie.”

“Did he even read it?”

“Pretended that he didn’t, but I walked out of the room for a second and when I came back he was crying.”

“Sounds right.”

“Signed ’em, though.”


“So dummy up.”


“Hello, Trey! I love you, but I could not put my button back in my pants. Will you help?”

“Sure, buddy.”

“Hey, guys? Do I ever get to be a part of this?”

“No, Mike.”

“No, Mike.”

“Trey, the mean man is being mean again.”

“See what you did, Mike?”

“You ruin everything, Mike.”

Phoot Phetish


“Look at ’em.”

“I’ve seen your feet, Bob.”

“I know, I know. Look at ’em again.”

“Is this, like, your thing?”

“By thing, do you mean fetish?”

“A little, kinda, yeah.”

“No, no, no. Not my fetish.”

“I heard it was yours.”

“You heard I was into old guy feet?”

“Hold your horses, Treyvon: I have the feet of a man half my age.”

“Granted, but I don’t have a foot thing, Bobby.”

“Have you tried?”

“Tried what?”

“Opening your mind, for starters.”

“If having an open mind means I have get off on your hairy toe-knuckles, then I don’t want an open mind.”

“It’s not gay if it’s just feet.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“GUUUUYS! I got a hundred likes on Instagram!”

“Good work, Mike.”

I Ain’t No Senator’s Son


“What now, Bob?”

“Good question, Troy. The, uh, tour’s over. Got a gig or two. Should probably start on that TV show they paid me to do a year-and-a-half ago.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Then, you know: huh. Lot of possibilities. Garcia’s briefcase is missing. I got a Victory Lap to do. Josh and Katy are due to get into some shenanigans any minute. Storyline after storyline.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Troy, are you familiar with the concept of semi-fic–”


“What is it, Page?”

“My dad’s here.”

“Oh, no.”


“I disapprove of all of this.”


“Oh, here’s a storyline, Troy. They just pop us like this.”

“Bob, why is everything always so fucking weird around you?”

“Excellent question.”

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