“Yo, Bob. Bob Weir”
“Oh hey Frank. What’s up?”
“Have you met the new guy yet? Friend of Genghis Khan?"
"Just curious. I haven't met him either, only saw him once, in the kitchen. Short, walks with a limp. Genghis Khan says he's only crashing here for a little while until he gets some shit worked out back home. Dr. Sigmund Freud screened him, say's he's not infected. Although his Triglycerides are through the roof. If you see him, let him know I'd like to meet him."
"Will do. Speaking of new guys, when is Rufus gonna get here?"
"I don't know, why?"
"Me and Ludwig Van Beethoven wanna jam with him."
"Cool. I'm sure he'd enjoy that as well. How are you and Ludwig Van Beethoven getting along?"
"Me and Ludwig Von Beethoven have been making most triumphant music together every since he got here. In fact, once Rufus arrives, and assuming we can teach the Princesses to play drums and percussion, and Joan of Arc to play bass, we’re thinking about maybe touring.”
“Touring? Bob, that’s great news. You on rhythm, Rufus on lead, Joan of Arc on bass, duel drummers who also happen to be most excellent babes, and Ludwig Van Beethoven on keyboards. You could tour the most ravaged parts of West Africa, providing a welcome respite to weary aid workers as they struggle to keep the ebola virus contained far from our shores. Kinda like the USO.”
“Actually, we were thinking more along the lines of a few gigs in Cali, maybe a quick run in Port Chester…”
“Pish posh, Bob. West Africa it is. You could even hand out packets of DripDrop to infected patients, thus bolstering its claim to be a “medical grade rehydration formula.” This is brilliant Bob. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. Imagine the photo ops. You, busting out in song, unafraid and undaunted by thousands of ebola patients crowding the stage for one last taste of happiness before they pass, weeping tears of blood from their eyes as they lay dying at your feet. Have you come up with a name for the new band?”
“No, not yet, and like I said, if we do tour, it’ll be something small. Maybe even keep it right here in Miami. A couple of Friday nights at the Sailing Club, at most.”
“Brilliant. A series of small, unannounced gigs which we will use to publicize your upcoming tour of Liberia. Sponsored by DripDrop. Done and done. Now, about the name for your new band. Let’s see…how about…”
“Frank, we’re a long way from needing a name. In fact, I’m thinking maybe this whole touring thing might be a bad idea…”
“How about ‘Camper Van Bob Weir’? That’s catchy. Although maybe too obscure. 'The Grateful Dying'? 'The Not Dead, Yet?'"
"These are all great suggestions, Frank. But like I said, I think we're getting way to far ahead of ourselves here...
"Lemme work on it for you Bob. It’d be a real honor to name your new band.”
“You do that, Frank. Meanwhile, I’ll go see what I can learn about this new guy. You say he's short, walks with a limp?"
“Thanks Bob. Yeah, short, walks with a limp. But before you go - whataya think about this name - 'Bring Out Your Dead?'”