So Grateful They're DEAD - Go TRUCK Yourselves

The long national nightmare of shitty "boogie band" garbage is OVER.

The surviving remnants of the smelly stoner-fave Grateful Dead played their LAST FUCKING CONCERT.

Technically, the Grateful Dead stopped existing when fat dopey Jerry Garcia croaked.

He was, after all, the visible leader, and whined on several of their better known songs (of which maybe two are actually not totally worthless).

It is appalling and disgusting how this awful band of dipshits and idiots managed to keep going, beyond the "curse" of dead keyboard players, and their habit of issuing three-album sets of numb and rambling quasi-country garbage that wasn't for truckin' or fuckin' — just for playing loudly while half-awake.

If I can give them any praise, it's to acknowledge that they not only managed to appeal to crackers and rednecks, but suburban morons on both coasts and even city dwellers who never drove a train high on cocaine. Somehow their idiot style of hippie-dipness won over all kinds of people who should've known better.

A "jam band" for losers with nothing to do for eight hours at a time, the Dead went well beyond being some kind of revolutionary group of dunderheads advocating mellowness and drugs. They became insufferably ingrained in the rock world, with even some critics pretending that Hunter's lyrics were worth reading and studying.

Let's just hope that some greedheads in the band don't go to court and decide they can use "Grateful Dead" or "New Grateful Dead" to tour again. Or "Hot Tuna." Or "Cherry Garcia."

Goodbye to this overrated band and the R. Crumb-y turd-fans who are such a maddeningly self-indulgent lot of obnoxious slackers, loafers, music thieves, unwashed jackasses and pickpockets.

Rolls Doobie...NOT.