Take Me To The Leader Of The Band
“My time coming any day? My time coming toDAY, mothersucker. Spotlight time.”
I do not recognize this voice. John Mayer?
“Nah. The real heart of the band. The soul of the Dead. The brains of the outfit.”
Red Metal Stool, is that you?
“Santa Clara, Chicago, and now I’m coming to New York! On the ROAD again, bro.”
Goddammit, this place is weird.
“I’m kinda the Dead’s support act.”
“You see what I did?”
“Bobby physically uses me for support once in a while.”
Yeah, about that: how’s our boy doing?
“A little gossip? That’s what you want?”
“Bobby doesn’t actually need me.”
What? That doesn’t sound right: he took a whole bunch of nice long leans during Santa Clara; less so in Chicago.
“Yes, but not for the reason you think: I’m just an excuse for Bobby to fart at the drummers.”
“Otherwise, he’d have no business being back there: people would know he was blowing ass.”
Don’t say “blowing ass” and this is not a true story.
“Looks like a sit, but it’s almost a shit.”
“Says ‘Ouch, my back’; it’s a Bob fart attack.”
“Aw, man: I’m just having fun.”
“Bob’s back is a fucking nightmare.”
“But he does fart on me all the time, though.”