Love All the People (New Edition) Page 6

That’d be a nice world, wouldn’t it? Mellow, hungry, quiet, fucked up people everywhere. Dominos’ pizza trucks passing each other on every highway. Parades of Dominos’. (truck horn) Let them get stuck in traffic: all our pizzas will be free. Come on. ‘Drugs are so bad, drugs are so bad.’ Yeah, yeah, well how come Keith Richards still walks? Explain that, Mr Surgeon-General. You never hear the Surgeon-General mention Keith, do ya? Ahh, little hole in the theory there. Surgeon-General says, ‘Drugs are bad! Drugs are EVIL! . . . ’Cept for that guy. Ha ha ha ha. They work real good for him. But the rest of ya.’ It’s like that commercial – the guy with the skillet?12 This is your brain: schhhhhhhh. ‘Here’s Keith’s brain: schh-hhhhhhh. Here’s Keith’s brain on drugs: (opening notes to ‘Satisfaction’) Hey, that sounds pretty good. That’s him on drugs? Well, let’s give him some more. Ha ha ha ha ha. ‘Here’s Keith almost dead: (opening notes to ‘Jumping Jack Flash’) It’s good. Let’s kill him. Ha ha. Get some hits. This guy defies the edge, man.

  Keith Richards outlived Jim Fixx,13 the runner and health-nut dude. The plot thickens. You remember Jim Fixx? This human cipher. What a dark period in our country’s history, too: the health years. Remember that? Everyone was trying to make up for all those cocaine disco bashes. ‘I guess I should jog—’Anybody love watching people jog in New York? It’s 110 degrees, they’re they’re they’re dead and . . . they’re in traffic. ‘I gotta get skinnier, I gotta be thinner.’ Hey dude, you’re gonna get hit in the fucking head with a car. You’re gonna look real good like a puddle, OK? Wow, what a thin-looking healthy puddle that is. ‘I’m still, I’m still not good enough . . . I’m still not good enough.’ Sorry. I was born perfect. Been that way ever since. Sorry. I have an unscrappable faith.

  Remember Jim Fixx, though? This guy used to write books about jogging. What do you jot down about jogging, you know? ‘Right foot, left foot . . . faster, faster mmm, go home, shower.’ OK. Thanks, Jim, for putting that literary mind to the jogging issue. But I know how to jog . . . being the biped that I am. Then this doofus goes out and has a heart attack and dies while jogging. Ahh-ha ha ha ha ha! There is a God. ‘Right foot, left foot, haemorrhage.’ Yeah, Jim, we’re gonna need a happier ending, buddy. What is this ‘Right foot, left foot, blood spurts out nose, Jim?’ You having troubles at home, son? Keith Richards is shooting heroin into his eyeball and still touring, all right? I’m getting mixed signals. I picture nuclear war, two things surviving: Keith and bugs. ‘Where’d everybody go? I saw a bright light, I thought we were on.’

  Too weird, man. I think the world’s falling apart out there. You feel that way? Do you watch this shit? Did you watch the flag-burning thing?14 Wasn’t that great? Boy, if everyone showed their true colours then, didn’t they? Retarded nation that we are. Scary. People just . . . people acted as though the Supreme Court approved of flag-burning, you know what I mean? ‘Does that mean we have to burn our flags? What did they— they said that we had to—’ No! No! NO! That’s not what they said. They said that perhaps if somebody wants to burn a flag, he perhaps doesn’t need to go to jail . . . FOR A YEAR. Pretty harsh on their part, huh? ‘Does that mean we have to burn the– they said we should burn—’ They didn’t say that, they didn’t say that, they didn’t say that . . . they didn’t say that. ‘Does that mean I have to go out now—’ No, no, no, no, NO! Listen. Read. Think. Calm down, relax, shut the FUCK up! ‘Well, I don’t get it. I don’t wanna burn my flag—’ Then DON’T! People snapped over this. Did you watch that? People were just: ‘Hey buddy. Let me tell you something . . . my daddy died for that flag.’ Really? Wow, I bought mine. (chuckles) Yeah, they sell ’em, you know, at K-mart and shit, yeah. Yeah, he died in the Korean War for that flag.’ Oh, what a coincidence: mine was made in Korea. Wow, the world is that big. No one, and I repeat no one has ever died for a flag. A flag is a piece of cloth. They might have died for freedom, which – by the way – is the freedom also to burn . . . the fucking flag. You see, burning the flag doesn’t make freedom go away; it’s kinda like freedom. And also this case . . . they’ve had four of these cases in the country’s 200-year history, so don’t think it’s that big and scary of an issue, do you? One of the hotter smokescreens these people have put down the pipe for us. ‘Rampant flag-burning, hurrrrrrrr.’ I tell you, the only way – and I don’t approve of flag-burning. I don’t wanna burn a flag, but if somebody wants to burn a flag, what business is it of mine? Is it my business if someone wants to burn a flag? Is it? No. No, it’s not. Is it my business what other people read or watch on TV? NO, IT’S NOT! Thank you! You see, when you talk these things out they come a little clearer, don’t they? They do. That’s called logic and it’ll help us all evolve and get on the fuckin’ spaceships and GET OUTA HERE! Let’s go! (chuckles)

  And the abortion thing, you know. Unbelievable. I’m not a girl, you know, I’m a guy, but at the same time, I’ll tell ya how you can solve this abortion thing right now: those unwanted babies that women leave in alleys and in dumpsters? Leave about twelve of them on the Supreme Court steps. Ha ha ha. This is over . . . like that. ‘You guys said we have to have ’em, well then you guys FUCKIN’ RAISE ’EM! Raise ’em then. You fucking raise ’em. You raise ’em. You say I had to have it, then it’s yours, fuck! It’s yours. Take it!’

  I generally love my job. You know what’s great about being a comic? It’s I have no boss. There’s a definite plus in a lifestyle, huh? Isn’t it? Aren’t bosses something? They’re like gnats on a camping trip, aren’t they? (makes sound of gnats whining) Get the fuck out of here, buddy. It’s just a job. It doesn’t mean a thing, all right? I smoked a joint this morning, you’re lucky I showed, bud, all right? My bed was like a womb.

  I always used to get from bosses: ‘Hicks, how come you’re not workin’?’ I’d go, ‘There’s nothing to do.’ And they’d go, ‘Well, you pretend like you’re workin’.’ ‘Yeah, why don’t you pretend I’m workin’? You get paid more than me. You fantasize, buddy. Hell. Pretend I’m mopping. Knock yourself out. I’ll pretend they’re buying stuff; we can close up. Hey, I’m the boss now – you’re fired. How’s that for a fantasy, buddy? If you’re gonna pretend, go ahead and [. . .]’

  I can’t have a job: I need my sleep. You know what I mean? I do. I need eight hours a day, you know, and about ten at night (sniffs) and I’m good . . . I’m good, I am.

  I look just like my dad. That scares me to death. I’m afraid I’m gonna wake up one day and start acting like my dad, you know? I mean, I love him, but he is a goober, man. All dads are goobers. They are. You become a goober, I don’t know why. Life just breaks ya, man, and one day you just go, ‘Screw it! I don’t care what people think of me any more. I’m gonna wait for the paperboy in my underwear. I’m gonna go to the mall in a Bermuda jumpsuit. I’m gonna walk about the house in a robe that won’t quite close. Who wants sausage with breakfast? I’m fixing sausage!’ ‘Dad, put some shorts on. You’re a goober.’ You guys ever find yourselves . . . sitting around the house like that? That goober moment is almost upon you. When that sock starts dangling and you don’t care, you got some serious fucking questions you better start askin’. You’re about to start worrying about your lawn.

  ‘I wonder how the lawn is? Let me just go out and stand naked in my lawn and survey my goober domain.’

  ‘Dad, what the FUCK IS IN YOUR EAR?’

  Something very vital is in my dad’s ear. He’s always— something’s in there. Could be my college money. (laughs)

  I never got along with my dad, man. When I was a kid, other kids would come up to me: ‘My dad can beat up your dad.’ I’d go, ‘When? . . . He cuts the lawn on Saturdays. Nail him out there . . . when he’s got those Bermuda shorts, red tennis shoes and sock garters on.’ Brrrrrrrrrrrr. ‘Go pop him in the head with a rake.’ (pop)

  I got an older brother who’s a genius. Certifiable genius. As though an older brother enough is not enough to cause you havoc, right? A genius on top of it. Boy, that sucked. When I was younger we used to fight, you know, and
I’d go, ‘I don’t have to do anything if I don’t want to.’ He’d go, ‘Yeah, you do. You gotta take up space.’ . . . ‘Oh yeah?’ Even then I was king of the comebacks, you know. (whistles) Ohhhh, boy. Remember summer vacations with your folks? Does anybody get the concept behind that? We did not get along together in a five-bedroom house. Dad’s idea was to put all of us in a car . . . and drive through the desert at the hottest time of the year. Pffft! Good call, Dad! Let’s confront our tensions. Remember that? Stressful, they weren’t fun, you weren’t vacating, it wasn’t leisure. ‘We’re gonna get up at 2 a.m. I wanna be on the road by 2.05. We don’t have time to stop at restrooms; we’re passing Dixie cups around the car. We’re gonna drive for fourteen-hour stretches in no direction whatsoever. The sun will always be shining through your window, Bill, figure that out.’ I have seen the sun take turns with our car before . . . to beam through my window. I’m in the back-seat like an ant under a magnifying glass.

  (desperately) ‘Dad, turn the air-conditioning on, please.’

  ‘Nope, it eats up gas.’

  ‘Then Dad, you take my college money and you turn that goddamn AC on, buddy. I’m not gonna be a sunstroke mongoloid so you can save two cents A FUCKING MILE!’

  ‘Hush . . . Heavens, have a plum.’

  ‘I don’t wanna plum! I wanna be freeze-dried and mailed home. I’m not having fun on our vacation.’

  Being in the car with my mom for fourteen hours, man. She’s just talkin’, talkin’, talkin’, just talkin’, talkin’, talkin’. I just wanna go, ‘Mom, (wearily) I been listening to you for about ten hours now, and I got a really serious question I wanna ask ya: do you know ANYONE WHO DOESN’T HAVE A FUCKING TUMOR! Everyone. ‘Got a tumor, gotta see it, you know that tumor started to swell like a melon, and er . . .’ Who has swelling tumors? Don’t talk about them! I’m trying to eat a fucking plum back here, mom. Plum/tumor – do you get the similarity at all?

  That’s one thing about travelling, man. I stay in hotels all the time. Anybody stay in hotels on a regular basis? Can you help me with something? Does ‘Do Not Disturb’ mean ‘Knock Immediately’ in Spanish? Or ah . . . what’s the fucking problem here? Do . . . not . . . disturb: fairly clear. Then again, I’m a reader. Put that on your door, within five minutes they’re there. ‘Housekeeping.’ (knocking) That’s not too disturbing, is it?

  (knocking) ‘Do you need fresh towels?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m gonna need to wipe up your blo-ood. If you

  keep KNOCKIN’ on that fucking door!’

  They’ll even walk in with a pass key. Have you ever had that? Your room, you’re in it, ‘Do Not Disturb’ on the fucking door! Housekeeping strolls right in. You’re sitting there going, ‘Hey hey, HEY!’

  ‘I’m here to change the sheets, hu-huh.’

  ‘Yeah, come back in five minutes. You’re gonna be working overtime on this crusty pillowcase. I’m young, too: you’d better check the ceilings, baby.’

  Like there’s anything to jack off to in a hotel room. There’s another symptom of the third mall from the sun, man. They got this thing in hotel rooms now. Instead of cable TV, they got a thing called Spectravision. You know what that is? Where you buy the movies. They got these movies on there, it says right there on the movie card: adult feature. Movies called Sex Kittens. Adult feature, it’s on after twelve, costs $6.35. Well, look . . . I’m an adult, I got $6.35 and oop! I’m up after twelve. Ha ha ha ha. Let’s see the fucking film. Have you ever seen one of these? It’s a pornographic movie but the pornography is cut out of it. Ahhh-ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ooo-hoo hoo hoo hoo! There is a frustrating hour. You wonder why people run through malls with automatic weapons these days, you know? ‘I almost saw the pussy!’ (gunshot) ‘I need to see the pussy!’ (gunshot) Now, I don’t wanna seem shallow . . . but I don’t think the plot and dialogue alone are enough to carry these films, y’all. I’d leave those fucking scenes in, if I were you . . . for continuity.

  And they got all these weird cuts where you don’t see the woman at all. But, what do they leave in? Ah! The guy’s hairy ass.

  (singing) ‘Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding.’

  ‘Housekeeping.’ (knocking)

  ‘GO AWAY! I’m looking at a guy’s hairy ass!’ (makes wah-wah pedal sound)

  Where are the sex kittens? Two guys make these movies. One guy films his own ass, the other guy has a wah-wah pedal and comes up with titles. These guys are making a fortune!

  ‘Let’s call this one Stewardesses in Heat.’

  ‘Good title, Timmy. Film my butt!’

  (singing) ‘Ding ding ding ding. Ding ding ding. Ding ding ding ding. Ding ding ding.’

  Where are the stewardesses?

  ‘Let’s call this one Waitress Daisy Chain.’

  ‘Great, get a close up.’

  (singing) ‘Ding ding ding ding. Ding ding ding. Ding ding ding ding.’

  Hey, where are the fucking chicks? I gotta pay for these movies! The guy at the [. . .] is going:

  ‘Hey you the guy who bought all the hairy bobbing man-ass films?’

  ‘It didn’t say that! It said Pink Librarians!

  ‘Yeah, buddy. Right.’

  ‘If it had said Hairy Bobbing Man-Ass I’d have never bought the motherfucker!’

  Goddamn it! Is it me?

  And they have these . . . on the movie card it says, ‘If you have any suggestions for our films, please write.’ Eh, I wrote ’em a letter, and I said, ‘Yeah: come shots.’ It’s not an adult feature unless at the end someone’s gooey, OK? Arcing ropes of jism hitting chins. That is an adult feature. Women licking up semen like kittens under a cow udder. That is an adult film. That’s a hairy bobbing man-ass. I don’t know who that’s for. I don’t know who watches that. I mean, I’ve got that kind of time, but ah . . .

  Boy, the pornography industry. They’re such pompous fucks, huh? You ever look at a hardcore pornographic magazine? They have this disclaimer that says, ‘All of our models are eighteen years and older.’ Uh! These are models all of a sudden. Yeah, tell me something Miss Model: how is jism being worn this year? Is it being worn back, or in bangs, or off the chin? Yeah, these are models. Yeah, here’s Dusty modelling a fourteen-inch cock up her ass. Come on down, Dusty. This is how cocks are worn in Europe, you know. Yep, and here’s Dallas with a penis ensemble. These are models . Yeah, I’m an amusement engineer, OK?

  Adult features . . . with no sex in ’em. Does that sound like the throwback to Aids? Is that what that is? Call it Aids, man. What other generation had anything comparable to Aids, you know? The fifties: rug burn. Pffft. I don’t know how much Aids scares y’all, but I got a theory: the day they come out with a cure for Aids, guaranteed one-shot, no-problem cure – on that day there’s gonna be fucking in the streets, man. ‘IT’S OVER! Who are you? Come here. What’s your name? No, it’s over! YEAH! WHOOOOOO-HOO!’ Man, there’s gonna be news cameras on every corner. ‘They’re fucking everywhere! This is Dan Rather and you’re not gonna believe this shit.’ Course, all you’re gonna see on the news is: (singing) ‘ding ding ding ding. Ding ding ding.’ That’s right: the hairy bobbing man-ass. The one adults know and love.

  You know what? Here’s my actual true . . . I’ve had a vision. And what it is, is although this is a world where good men are murdered in their prime, and mediocre hacks thrive and proliferate, I gotta share this with ya, cos I love you and you feel that. You know all that money we spend on nuclear weapons and defence every year? Trillions of dollars? Correct? Trillions. Instead, if we spent that money feeding and clothing the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one human being excluded, not one, we could, as one race, explore outer space together in peace for ever. You’ve been great, thank you. (three gunshots)

  Recorded Live at the Vic Theatre, Chicago

  (November 1990)15

  CHICAGO! YEEAH! OH YEAH! All right. Good evening, brothers and sisters, friends and neighbours, vibrations in the mind of the one true God whose name
is love. It’s warm in here; I don’t know how you deal with these winters here, man. I don’t get it. I was here last winter; one of the days I was here it was three below zero, no wind chill. A little nippy. It’s kinda fun though in that weather, goin’ outdoors and watching smokers pass out, cos they don’t know when they’re done exhaling. Just good cheap American fun, you know. Smokers cracking their heads open on the icy sidewalk, blood steaming . . . we laughed and laughed. How many smokers do we have here tonight?16 Smokers? (applause and hooting from the crowd) That’s a lot of energy for you fuckers, that’s good! Usually you get . . . (coughs six times) Thank you guys, thank you. Next time I need you, just hawk up a chunk of lung for me, all right? Rear back, launch a flim-jim towards the stage. BUT! Listen to this; how manyyyyy non-smokers do we have here tonight? (louder applause and hooting from the crowd) Bunch of whining little maggots. You obnoxious . . . self-righteous . . . slugs. Don’t take that wrong. I’d quit smoking if I didn’t think I’d become one of you. You are the worst advertisement for non-smoking, you know that. Tell you, the worst kind of non-smokers is the kind where when you’re smoking and they just walk up to you . . . (coughs affectedly) I always say, ‘Shit. You’re lucky you don’t smoke. That’s a hell of a cough you’ve got there dude. I smoke all day and don’t cough like that. I’m smoking, you’re coughing, wow.’ That’s kind of cruel man, going up to a smoker and coughing at him. Shit! Do you go up to crippled people dancing too? You fucks? ‘Hey Mr Wheelchair, what’s your problem? Come on Ironside, race ya!’ Fucking sadist! Obnoxious, self-righteous sadist. Don’t take that wrong.

  But you’ve got to understand something. First of all, I don’t do anything else, all right? Now I don’t drink . . . now a lot of you non-smokers are drinking. OK, I’m a non-drinker and I smoke. Now to me, we’re trading off vices. That seems fair to me. Yeah, lying fuck. ‘No it’s not, no it’s not. Why should our lives be threatened by your nasty habit, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah.’ Yeah, well, you know what? I can’t kill anyone in a car cos I’m smoking a fucking cigarette, all right? An’ I’ve tried! Turn off all the lights, rush ’em, they always see the glow. ‘Man there’s a big firefly heading this way. Shit it’s knocking over shrubs!’ It’s me coming in for the kill. Like I say, I don’t drink . . . any more. I had to quit cos I really drank. K? K. And I was really fucking pathetic, K? K. Shit, man, I’d get pulled over by cops, I’d be so drunk I’d be out dancing to their lights thinking I’d made it to another club. It does not look good on the arrest report, man. You ask a State Trooper to do-si-do, they tend to remember you. So I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs . . . any more. I used to take drugs and I quit, but I tell you something . . . I have nothing against drugs whatsoever. That’s kind of weird, huh? You’ve never heard that one. ‘Used to take drugs, quit, and have nothing against them. Wow, never heard that, let’s hear more.’ OK. I’ll tell you something else. I know this is not a very popular idea, you don’t hear it very often any more, but it’s the truth. I have taken drugs before and ahh . . . I had a real good time. Sorry! Didn’t murder anybody, didn’t rob anybody, didn’t rape anybody, didn’t beat anybody, didn’t lose . . . mmmm . . . one fucking job. Laughed my ass off . . . and went about my day. Sorry! Now, where’s my commercial? Shit, I’ll be the guy holding that skillet in that commercial, man. ‘That ain’t a brain, that’s breakfast! Let’s eat! What, have we been up five days now? I’m fucking starving!’ Tshhh . . .