Goddammit, stop making those faces.
“Oh, hey. We haven’t talked in a while.”
Don’t distract me with your Connecticut pleasantries. Quit it with the face-face.
“But, these are my best faces.”
Define “best,” please.
“Here’s the thing: the Grateful Dead has many hearing impaired fans.”
Deafheads, yeah. They’re the shit.
“Right. They can’t hear that I’m soloing, so I like to show them. Facially.”
“Being racist against my face is being racist against the Deaf.”
I can’t be racist against your face. Your face is a country.
“Listen, man: I don’t tell my face what to do. Quite frankly, my face has been very good to me. If my face wants to make faces, then so be it.
Billy is rolling his eyes at you.
“Billy has been rolling his eyes at existence for quite a while now. Besides, Billy loves me.”
“Might have something to do with the size of the checks he’s been receiving since meeting me.”
That’ll do it.
“This will actually interest you, seeing as how you’re an obsessive shut-in–”
“–I have been doing a lot of reading up on the Dead. There’s a ton of books, man. My reader’s been working overtime.”
“Girl from USC does the coverage and sends me a two-page synopsis.”
That sounds efficient
“How do you read books?”
I read them.
“There you go: I’m way busier and richer than you. Hence: reader.”
Okay, whatever. What have you learned about the Dead?
“Did you know they had a guitarist before me?”
You don’t say.
“Fat Mexican guy.”
“What a guitarist! You know he was missing an arm?”
Partially. What else?
“The Summer of Love was a cookout that took place in the Grateful Dead’s backyard when they all lived together at 420 Haight Street. There was a guy in the band named Mister Pigpants, but he died on Side Six of Europe ’72. And then they built a sound system that came to life and, many years later, briefly held me hostage while various living and deceased Grateful Deads donned sim-suits to put the moves on Katy Perry. Then the band broke up, and then they weren’t broken up and Mickey was back. And then they broke up again. I think a lot of people may have died.”
Yeah, that’s pretty much the story.
“There was something called a Ned Lagin at one point.”
There was. You’re pretty much a Dead scholar.
“Yeah, I just signed a book contract to write about my time with the Dead.”
“Yeah. Lotta money.”