Love All the People (New Edition)

by Bill Hicks

  I know, it’s a weird– does anyone remember this: when Yul Brynner died and came out with that commercial after he was dead? Does anyone remember that? ‘I’m Yul Brynner, and I’m dead now.’ What the fuck’s this guy sellin’? Guy crawled through the earth to get a residual cheque here. ‘I’m Yul Brynner, and I’m dead now cos I smoked cigarettes.’ It’s pretty frightening, you know. But they coulda done that with anybody. They coulda done it with that Jim Fixx guy just as easily.

  ‘I’m Jim Fixx, and I’m dead now . . . an’ I don’t know how the fuck it happened. I jogged every day, ate nothing but tofu, swam 500 laps every morning; I’m dead. Yul Brynner drank, smoked, and got laid every night of his life; he’s dead . . . shit. Yul Brynner’s chain-smoking, drinking, fifteen-year-old girls sitting on his cueball noggin every night of his life; I’m running around a dewy track at dawn. We’re fucking both dead. Goddamn it.’

  I know it’s a nasty habit, but guess what? Drum roll. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I’m addicted. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Tried to quit. You ever tried to quit, sir? I love it. Ever smoker, I love it. You ever try an’ quit? ‘Mmm-hmm? Oh yeah, I’m trying right now.’ Did you try cold turkey? No, what did you try?

  Man in audience: Didn’t last long.

  Bill: Didn’t last long. But you did try stopping?

  Second man in audience: [. . .]

  Bill: Cold turkey? Thank you, sir. I haven’t . . . believe I’ve entered you into the show yet. I’m talking to the smoker cos he’s smoking. When I start talking about goofballs, you get ready. When the word ‘goofball’ comes up, you sit up and take a sip of coffee, cos you’re on. Listen, folks, the audience participation part of the show is limited to this and this only: direct ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers to my questions, laughter, applause, and a blowjob from all the women afterwards. That’s it. You can all relax within those parameters, I believe. Good. Glad we know the fucking schedule.

  So you did try? Cold turkey’s hard. It’s the most– it’s really aggravating. What I’m gonna do is I’m gonna quit gradually, and what you do to quit gradually is, I’m gonna lose one lung . . . and then a little while later I’m gonna lose the other one. And that’s it. I feel better having a plan. So, I smoke a lot. How much do you smoke a day, sir?

  Man in audience: Two packs.

  Bill: Two packs? Pussy. (laughs) I go through two lighters a day, dude, all right? So . . . two packs, you’re like a health nut to me. You’re like the Jack LaLanne21 of smokers, man. You could tie a piano to your back, you could swim the English fucking Channel with a cigarette. Two lighters a day is a bit much. Oyy . . . the only good thing about smoking now is every cigarette pack has a different Surgeon-General’s warning. That’s kinda neat. Mine say: ‘Warning: smoking may cause foetal injury or premature birth.’ Fuck it. (laughs) Found my brand. Just don’t get the ones that say ‘lung cancer’, you know. Shop around. It is your body. ‘Yeah, give me a carton of low birth weights. I think I can live with low birth weight, line ’em up, goddamn it. I’m here to take the low-birth-weight challenge. Let’s go. One, two, three. Come on.’ ‘That’s good, Willie. Do your little smoking jokes while you still got the breath left in you to do ’em, son.’ That is my big fear in life: doing smoking jokes in my act, and showing up five years from now: (in monotone) ‘Good evening everybody. Remember me? I was wrong. Smoking is real fucking bad for ya. No joke!’ Oh my god, man. I’ve seen people do that. You ever seen someone do that? Is that unbelievable? Man, if you’re smoking out of a hole in your neck, I’d think about quit-tin’. Wouldn’t ya? I mean, at that point? Chew some gum, or something, I . . . I’m not trying to tell you how to live, I’m sayin’ . . . that just shows a commitment I cannot fucking relate to, man. I mean, we’re beyond image at that point, you know. Jesus, what’s next for that guy, you know? ‘I just can’t stop. It gets worse and worse every year. I’m telling you, man, I cannot quit. I can’t quit smoking! They’re starting to taste like shit, but I . . .’ Dude, you got a cigarette in your butt, man. Chew some fucking gum or something. You got a stogie22 in your heinie, buddy, I’m tellin’ you. Chew some gum, get a mint, get a toothpick, there’s other ways. (quietly) Yeah, we’re done with that shit there, I’m done with that shit. I’m just really tired, man.

  You know what’s bumming me out? I realize what bums me out: I watch too much news, man. It’s depressing. You ever watch CNN for longer than say . . . twenty hours in one day? I gotta cut that out. Watch CNN: it’s the most depressing thing you’ll ever see, man. ‘WAR, FAMINE, DEATH, AIDS, HOMELESS, RECESSION, DEPRESSION, WAR, FAMINE, DEATH, AIDS.’ Over and over again. Then you look out your window: (makes crickets chirruping sound). Where’s all this shit going on, man? Ted Turner is making this shit up. Jane Fonda won’t sleep with him, he runs to a typewriter: ‘By 1992 we will all die of Aids. Read that on the air. I don’t get laid, nobody gets laid.’

  The war (clears throat) the war was a very stressful time for me,23 the war. Yeah. I was in a very unenviable position of being for the war but . . . against the troops. (makes crickets chirruping sound) First of all, and this needs to be said, cos it isn’t said enough, and in fact it was never said. There NEVER was a war. A war is when two armies are fighting. Right there, I think we can all agree.

  Boy, Bush turned out to be a real demon, didn’t he? Remember when Bush was first President? He was the wimp President. You remember that? Cover of Newsweek: ‘WIMP President!’ Apparently, this stuck in that guy’s craw a little bit. Guy turned into a fucking demon, man.

  ‘We surrender!’

  ‘Not good enough.’

  ‘We run away!’

  ‘Too little, too late. We’re havin’ way too much fun.’

  Kidding me? Those guys were in hog heaven out there, man. They had a big weapons catalogue opened up.

  ‘What’s G12 do, Tommy?’

  ‘Says here it destroys everything but the fillings in their teeth. Helps us pay for the war effort.’

  ‘Well, shit, pull that one up.’

  ‘Pull up G12, please.’

  Yeah, everyone got boners over the technology. And it was pretty amazing, you gotta admit, watching a missile fly down an air vent. Pretty unbelievable. But couldn’t we feasibly use that same technology to shoot food at hungry people? You know what I mean? Fly over Ethiopia. ‘There’s a guy that needs a banana.’ Schhhhh (explosion noise). Schhhhhhh (explosion noise). Schhhhhhhh (explosion noise). The Stealth Banana. Smart Fruit. (quietly) I don’t know. (clears throat)

  Guess the most amazing thing about the war to me was the disparity in the casualties, man. Iraq: 150,000 casualties. We had . . . seventy-nine. A hundred and fifty thousand. We had . . . seventy-nine. Does that mean if we had sent over eighty guys, we still woulda won this fucking thing, or what? One guy in a ticker-tape parade:

  ‘I did it! Hey! You’re welcome!’

  ‘Good work, Tommy, how d’you do it?’

  ‘I pulled up G12. It was in the catalogue. Worked like a charm.’

  Seventy-nine. After we had a war – we killed 150,000 people, we lost seventy-nine, mostly to friendly fire – did those army commercials even need to be aired any more? ‘We’re the army and we’re looking for a few good – fuck, we got enough good men. Screw it! We need eighty of ya, that’s it. Eighty of ya and that weapons catalogue.’

  Y’all are about to win the election as the worst fucking audience I’ve ever faced. Ever . . . ever . . . ever! S’all right. S’all right. No, listen folks. Here’s the deal. I know you’re getting concerned. Let me assure you right now – there are dick jokes on the way. Relax, I’m a professional. Here’s the deal: I editorialize for forty minutes. The last ten minutes we pull our ’chutes and float down to dick-joke island together, OK? And we will rest our weary heads against the big, purple, thick-vein trunks of dick jokes, and we will sit in our comfy beanbag scrotum chairs, and giggle away the dawn like good American audiences, K? Penis jokes are comin’ up. Relax. I understand what country I’m in. (sighs, then whistles)


  The media: once again, watching too much news really bummed me out. Remember how it started? They kept talking about the Elite Republican Guard? You know, the Elite Republican Guard. These were like the bogeymen of the war, the first couple of months. ‘Well, we’re doing good now, but we have yet to face the Elite Republican Guard.’ Like these guys were ten-feet-tall desert warriors. (makes crashing footstep noise) ‘Never lost a battle.’ (crashing footsteps) ‘We shit bullets.’ (crashing footsteps) Well, after two months of bombing and not one reaction from these people they became simply . . . the Republican Guard. Ha ha ha ha ha! Not nearly as elite . . . as we may have led you to believe. After another month of bombing, they went from the Elite Republican Guard, to the Republican Guard, to the Republicans made this shit up about there being guards out there. We hope you enjoyed the fireworks show. ‘Boy it was pretty.’

  People said, ‘Uh-uh, Bill, Iraq had the fourth largest army in the world.’ Yeah, but let me tell you something: after the first three largest armies, there’s a rrrreal big drop off, OK? The Hare Krishnas are the fourth largest army in the world – fifth largest – and they’ve already got our airports. I am the sixth largest army in this world. Just to give you a numerical perspective.

  I’ll tell you, the people that bug me are people that say, ‘Oh, the war made us feel better about ourselves.’ Who are these people with such low self-esteem they need a war to feel better about themselves? I saw them on the news, waving their flags. Could I recommend instead of a war to feel better about yourself, perhaps . . . sit-ups? Maybe a fruit cup? A walk around the block at dusk – I always find that cheers me up. (chuckles)

  What’s the phone for, man? Are you guys drug dealers? What’s that for? You gonna call somebody or what? Huh? What do you do?

  Man in audience: Dentist.

  Bill: You’re a dentist, and you need to be ready at all times . . . It’s not your phone? Whose phone is it?

  Man in audience: Gentleman behind.

  Bill: Gentleman behind you? And who— and what do you do?

  Man in audience: He’s the drug dealer.

  Bill: He’s the drug dealer. I see. You fuck their teeth up, you get ’em hooked, and we rock in the nightclubs all night long. (laughs)

  Woman in audience: He’s my doctor.

  Bill: He’s your doctor? Are you kidding? What kind of doctor? You’re lyin’. Are you kidding me? Yeah, you are. (sighs) Fucking hell, man. What? Are y’all from some outpatient clinic that I need to know? ‘Bill, we are all on Thorazine. Your stuff is quite humorous; we are drugged beyond belief. We are this close to palpitating and releasing our souls through the tops of our heads . . . at which time you will ah . . .’

  Man in audience: We can call anyone.

  Bill: What?

  Man in audience: We can call anyone—

  Bill: We can call anyone. Well, how about my fucking agent and let’s fire him together:

  ‘Pittsburgh, you bastard. Good crowds. They stared at me like a dog that’s just been shown a card trick.’

  ‘Bill, maybe they’re all on Thorazine.’

  ‘Well, let me check. Fuck, you were right!’

  ‘It’s why I been in this business three months, boy.’

  Watch too much TV. TV’ll— I can’t watch TV longer than five minutes without praying for nuclear holocaust. Really. On my hands and knees, wishing it upon every one of you. That’s how much I love TV. (chuckles) Think it’s great. I watched The Love Connection. That’s gotta be the most depressing show I’ve ever seen in my life. ADULT human beings on national television, grovelling for dates. Have some self-respect: stay home and jerk off, man. Guys, buy a Hustler, toss off a load, go about your fucking day, all right? Have some dignity. Ladies, get in the tub. Get under the spigot. Come, and go about your business. Have some self-respect. Show makes jerking off look like a spiritual quest. ‘At least I’m not on The Love Connection. I can hold my head high. There is pride in my family, pride!’

  I don’t get along with anything, I really don’t. I’m just . . . I’m, I’m, maybe I’m just a, you know, incredibly tasteful human being. I think that’s absolutely true, but . . . like this, I’ll give you a ‘for instance’. I live in New York City. New York – anyone here know about New York? This thing called Channel J? Is anyone familiar with this at all?

  Man in audience: Sure.

  Bill: Channel J. One person’s all it takes. Channel J is a channel that shows pornography commercials for ah . . . escort services and phone-sex lines. All night long they show commercials. Now, first of all, phone sex. I have never called phone sex up, and I never could. ‘Why Bill?’ Well . . . I just would be embarrassed, you know. I couldn’t do that, have some woman on the other end of the line:

  (whispering) ‘Oh, you got me so hot. I’m so wet. Your cock is so big, I’ve never seen a cock that big in—’

  ‘I think I got the wrong number.’

  You know what I mean? I couldn’t deal with that. You know what I mean? And maybe it’s . . . I’m a realist. And they also have these numbers for escort services, and once again I just don’t agree, you know what I mean? I’m watching these commercials: (deep voice) ‘Call 970-SLUT, and the girl of your dreams will come to your house.’ Well, I got news for ya, folks. The girl of my dreams doesn’t blow fifty different guys a day, OK? Maybe I’m out of fucking line here . . . ah, the girl of my dreams, I don’t feel like eating a trucker’s come out of her pussy, it’s weird, I’m weird that way, and the girl of my dreams does not have stretchmarks around her mouth, all right? Sorry. I know you’re going, ‘Bill, you’re too inflexible here, you’re gonna have to get off your high horse, son.’ The girl of my dreams, you can’t play Connect the Dots with the herpes sores around her anus. D’you understand? The girl of my dreams, I’m putting on a pedestal so that I can . . . do nasty, nasty things to her, but . . . ‘The girl of your dreams.’

  Ooooooo doggy! Actually, I’m kinda seeing a young lady right now, very young, an’ ah, I kinda feel ill that I’m seeing someone this young. It’s ridiculous, but . . .

  Man in audience: Fifteen?

  Bill: A little bit older than that. Between fifteen and ah nineteen, something like that. I can’t help myself, man. I’m weak. I’m weak. I’m sorry, you get down between her legs, and it’s, there’s this, it’s, it’s like a wisp of cotton candy framing a paper cut, you know? I ah . . . it’s really, really nice, and ah . . . (laughs) Sick? That’s sick? What are you – like these coalminer women with pussys so big you find dead canaries in ’em? I mean . . . ’scuse me, but ah . . . fifteen-year-old girls ARE NOT SICK. Oop, I gave it away, fifteen, all right – between fifteen and nineteen.

  Man in audience: Gerbils!

  Bill: Gerbils? That man just leapt out of the closet during our show tonight. Sir, this is not a big [. . .] meeting, we’re not sharing right now, all right? Believe or not, somehow there’s gonna be a joke involved on my part. ‘I like gerbils, Bill!’ Thank you, sir. Thank you. Thank you. Ohhhhhhhhh! This is a really, really awful night for me.

  Woman in audience: What?

  Bill: What? It’s really an awful night for me.

  Audience members: Why? Oh, come on. Why?

  Bill: I don’t know, I don’t feel like y’all are laughing, man. You don’t, you’re just staring. Are y’all all right? Is it me?

  Man in audience: Whoooooo!

  Bill: That’s not laughter, sir. This ain’t the fucking Arsenio Hall24 Show either. Shut the fuck up. Fucking . . . I wanna see Arsenio come out on rollerskates with a big cigar in his mouth one night, that would be more apropos, I think. Have him do backflips during this monologue. That would crack me up. Doesn’t need a band, he needs an organ grinder. Hokay. I’m teasing. He’s a great talent . . . and I am a liar. OK. He is. And I pray for nuclear holocaust . . . in five minutes.

  Maybe it’s my face. I got one of those faces, man, I’m just– People come up to me I don’t even know, come up out of the blue and go:

  ‘What’s wrong
?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Takes more energy to frown than it does to smile.’

  ‘Yeah, you know it takes more energy to point that out than it does to leave me alone? (laughs) Get the fuck away from me.’

  The world confuses me. Why is the first guy at the light always the last to see the light change to green? Can somebody explain that? Are there any physicists here tonight can possibly explain this fucking phenomenon to me? Wouldn’t you think speed of light distance, the first guy would be, I don’t know, the first to see the fucking light change? Wrong. It’s always the last guy, who has to go through nineteen other cars. Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, GO! It’s green! That’s as green as it ge-ets. I’m gettin’ older, GO! Finally this guy snaps and putters through the yellow. ‘Oh, shit.’ Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I’m stuck at the same fucking light, and I’m thinking, ‘I hope that guy dies on the way home. I hope he’s cut in two by a train in front of his kids. They can watch both halves of their moron daddy wiggle like worms on a hot pavement. You’re too stupid to fucking drive, you shoulda been a blowjob. Fucking idiot.’ Then behind me, I hear, ‘GO!’ I never said I was perfect. We all have our little problems. I don’t know. So I smoke . . . I smoke too much. You know you smoke too much when other smokers tell you to please put it out, you know. That’s a lie.