Phouch Phour

by thoughtsonthedead

If you value your sanity, please stay away from any and all chat rooms regarding The Phishes. That includes Twitter because–let’s face it–once I stop tweeting out Phil Simms jokes, there’s no reason to be there at all; however, when Couch Tour is going, the service turns into a seething cauldron of backseat drummers, Monday-morning keyboardists, and dudes declaring their hate for Mexican Cousin and comparing craft beers.

(Phish Persons fucking hate the song Mexican Cousin and fucking love obscure beers.)

Plus, Phish Twitter is as impenetrable as Black Twitter: there’s no real difference between “Meek slammin Fitty 1st L of 16” and “MIKE’S PANTS. #cactus #bathtub.” (I swear that both of those are actual thoughts, if not word-for-word quotations.)

Folks send reaction GIFs back and forth to one another, and there are many stats. Did you know that sabermetrics can be applied to sproingy-type bands? They can. They are. Quite liberally, in fact.

Sometimes, I’m glad the Dead died giving birth to the innertubes.

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