Love All the People (New Edition)

by Bill Hicks

  But, you know, I saw this movie this year called ah, Basic Instinct. OK now. Bill’s quick capsule review: piece of shit. OK now. Yeah, yeah, end of story, by the way. Don’t get caught up in that fevered hype, phoney fucking debate about that piece-of-shit movie. ‘Is it too sexist? And what about the movies? Are they becoming too blah, blah, blah, blah.’ You’re, you’re just confused, you don’t get, you’ve forgotten how to judge correctly. Take a deep breath (breathes in), look at it again. ‘Oh it’s a piece of shit!’ Exactly, that’s all it is. Satan squatted, let out a loaf, they put a fucking title on it, put it on a marquee, Satan’s shit, piece of shit, walk away. ‘But is it too . . . what about the lesbian connota– blah, blah, blah, blah .’ You’re, you’re getting really baffled here. Piece of shit! Now walk away. THAT’S ALL IT IS; IT’S NOTHING MORE! Free yourself folks, if you see – piece of shit, say it and walk away. You’re right! You’re right! Not those fuckers who want to tell you how to think! YOU’RE FUCKING RIGHT! Sorry, wrong meeting again. I keep getting my days mixed up. Tomorrow it’s the meeting at the docks. Tonight it’s comedy entertainment with young Bill! Horrible film. And then I come to find out after that film, that all the lesbian sex scenes, let me repeat that, all . . . all the lesbian sex scenes were cut out of that film, because the test audience was turned off by them. Ha! Boy, is my thumb not on the pulse of America.

  I don’t want to seem like Randy Pan the Goatboy but ah . . . that was the only reason I went to that piece of shit. If I had been in that test audience, the only one out front protesting that film would have been Michael Douglas demanding his part be put back in, all right?

  ‘I swear I was in that movie. I swear I was.’

  ‘Gee Mike, the movie started. Sharon Stone was eating another woman for an hour and a half. Then the credits rolled. I ah, I don’t remember seeing your scrawny ass, Mike.’

  ‘Was Bill Hicks in that test audience?’

  ‘Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Goatboy called it like he saw it, Mikey. You made your 14 mill., now hit the fucking road. Goatboy has invited some people over to see the video premiere of the Goatboy edited version. Ha ha ha. I am Goatboy.

  ‘What do you want, Goatboy? You big old smelly, shaggy thing?’

  ‘Ho ho ho. Goatboy is here to please you.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Ha ha ha ha ha. Tie me to your headboard, throw your legs over my shoulders and let me wear you like a feed-bag.’ (makes snorting, sucking noise)

  ‘Aaargh!’

  ‘Hold on to my horns.’

  ‘Goatboyyyyy!’

  ‘Yes, my love?’

  ‘You’re a big old smelly thing.’

  ‘Ha ha ha ha ha.’

  I need professional help at this point I think I need a priest at this point.

  ‘Forgive me Father for I have sinned.’

  ‘What have you done, my son?’

  ‘Well, I said the word “fuck” gratuitously.’

  ‘Yes and what else, my son?’

  ‘Er . . . (giggles) I lied.’

  ‘Yes, and what else my son?’

  ‘That’s about all – oh, oh, one thing: I keep thinking I’m a randy goat, fucking everyone. Ha ha ha. Baaaaaa baa baa.’

  Unless of course it’s a woman priest, in which case it’ll go like this: forgive me, Father, for what I’m about to do. (sings) ‘Ding ding ding ding.’ People ask me what I think about that woman priest thing, you know. What, a woman priest? Women priests. Great, great. You know, now it’s priests of both sexes I don’t listen to. Fuck, I don’t care. Have a hermaphrodite one. I don’t fucking care. Have one with three dicks and eight titties, I don’t, I don’t . . . you know, have one with gills and a trunk. That would be cool. I might go see that, you know, but . . . You know, I appreciate your quaint traditions and superstitions. I, on the other hand, am an evolved being who deals solely with the source of life, which exists in all of our hearts. Ha ha ha ha ha. That middle man thing, it’s wacky and I appreciate it . . . gotta run, there’s a voice a-callin’ me. Ha ha ha ha ha. Now, you guys are totally weird sexually. Here’s why. Oh yeah, coming from Goatboy oh boy. ‘Yes Bill, and how is that? That we have human sex? Does that bother you, Bill?’ Goatboy finds that disgusting. Where is the fun in that? Ha ha ha ha ha. Goatboy loves young girls. Sixteen years old, ooh Goatboy, hello.

  ‘Hi Goatboy you big old smelly thing. Ooh, you smell like an old boot.’

  ‘Ha ha ha ha. I don’t see you running away.’

  ‘I’m not scared of you . . . besides, your eyes are really kind and peaceful. Except for that fire that burns real far deep inside of ’em.’

  ‘Ha ha ha ha.’

  ‘Oh, Goatboy, what’s that?’

  ‘That is my purple wand and my hairy sack of magic.’

  ‘You do tricks?’

  ‘Ha ha ha ha.’

  ‘What can you do with that?’

  ‘Goatboy can make a bell ring in your stomach.’

  ‘What does that bell mean?’

  ‘It calls Goatboy to dinner, ha ha ha ha.’ (snorts)

  ‘Goatboy! Aargh!’

  ‘OK Bill, stop with the Goatboy thing, we get it all right. It’s kinda amusing but . . . OK.’ You don’t like Goatboy? Goatboy is hurt by your indifference. He wanted you to come dance with him in the pastures. Ding ding ding ding. Goatboy wants to string flowers through your hair, and on your head. Do do, do do, do do, do do de do.

  ‘Why do you like young girls, Goatboy?’

  ‘Because, you are beautiful. There’s nothing between your legs, it’s like a wisp of cotton candy framing a paper cut. Ha ha ha ha. (snorts) And turn you around and open your cheeks, it’s like a little pink quivering rabbit nostril. Oh how cute! I bet your asshole tastes better than most girls’ pussies. Come here.’ (snorting, sucking sound)

  ‘Goatboyyy!’ (snorting, sucking)

  ‘Shaggy old thing. I’m not going to kiss you, I don’t know where your mouth’s been.’

  ‘Do you want me to tell you?’

  ‘OK, Bill, seriously, this Goatboy thing, quit it, it’s getting weird.’ Except for some of my goat children. (makes bleating sound)

  ‘Morrrre, Faaather, morrrre, more Goatboy, Faather. We are your goat children. We, too, lay in the forest waiting for young virgins to come.’ But you guys are weird – get this, man. I’m walking down through the West End one day, right, and this busload of tourists from Iowa gets off the bus. These big cow people, right? Bump into me and I go flying into this adult bookstore, OK? And my hands were in my pockets and I took ’em out and money flew out of my hand and wafted down on to the cash register, and this guy hands me a magazine. How embarrassing. I go home immediately to the hotel and throw it away. Towards the garbage, it breaks open, face up, on the bed. Give me a BREAK, Lord. But I’m looking at your British hardcore pornography, which I just spent HARD-core fucking dollars for. And I’m going, ‘Something’s wrong with this. Goatboy will figure it out!’ I realize it’s porno, yeah, just what we know and love, but there’s blue dots covering all the good shit! What, whaaat’s going on? There’s a guy standing there like this. There’s a woman kneeling, well . . . I believe she was like this. And there’s this big blue dot right here. What the fuck! This comes off, I hope . . .What, you gotta buy the blue dot eraser separately? What the fuck? I’m an adult. Don’t protect me. Let’s go! Goatboy wants his money back. You know. And then I see a club in the West End that has this marquee sign, says ‘Live Sex Show On Stage’. I thought, what a bummer actually to have to be the guy that holds the blue dot. All right, but what’s weird is that’s your hardcore porno, then you go home, turn on Channel 4 late at night, there’s people fucking, yeah, they’re right there. No blue dot, just people fucking right there. Free, no money, people fucking. It’s a foreign film: it’s art all of a sudden. Hey! Put some subtitles in there. Here’s your pussy, here, you got it. Everyone happy? There you go, it’s art, goddamn it. All right, I see. You pay, you get ripped off – free, you get it all. Dig it, love i
t! . . . I am available for children’s parties, by the way.

  ‘Mommy I want Goatboy to come play at our house.’

  ‘Ha ha ha ha ha ha.’

  But, you know . . . Pot! Right. They lie about marijuana. Tell you pot-smoking makes you unmotivated. Liiie. When you’re high, you can do everything you normally do, just as well, you just realize it’s not worth the fucking effort. There is a difference. (inhales, as if from spliff) Sure I can get up at dawn (inhales) go to a job I hate, that does not inspire me creatively whatsoever, (inhales) for the rest of my fucking life. (inhales) Or I can wake up at noon, and learn how to play the sitar! (in monotone, repeatedly) ‘Now ning now ning ning ning now.’ Pretty simple when it’s spelled out in black and white, isn’t it? You know. Only thing I’ve ever heard about pot is that pot might lower sperm count. Good! There’s too many fucking people in the world. Someone needs to say that, by the way. Tired of this, ‘Hey hey aren’t we the coolest? Humans are so neat.’ Too many of yer. Quit rutting, just for a fucking day. Let’s work out this food/air deal. Then go back to your rutting.

  But I’ll tell you this. Where’d this idea that childbirth is a miracle come from? Ha, I missed that fucking meeting, OK? ‘It’s a miracle, childbirth is a miracle.’ No, it’s not. No more a miracle than eating food and a turd coming out of your ass. It’s a chemical reaction, that’s all it fucking is. If, you know, you wanna know what a miracle is – raisin’ a kid that doesn’t talk in a movie theatre. OK, there, there, there is a goddamn miracle. It’s not a miracle if every nine months any yin yang in the world can drop a litter of these mewling cabbages on our planet. And just in case you haven’t seen the single mom statistics lately, the miracle is spreading like wild-fire. ‘Hallelujah!’ Trailer parks and council flats all over the world just filling up with little miracles. Thunk, thunk, thunk, like frogs laying eggs.

  ‘Thunk. Look at all my little miracles, thunk, filling up my trailer like a sardine can. Thunk. You know what would be a real miracle, if I could remember your daddy’s name, aargh, thunk. I guess I’ll have to call you Lorry Driver Junior. Thunk. That’s all I remember about your daddy was his fuzzy little pot-belly riding on top of me, shooting his caffeine-ridden semen into my belly to produce my little water-headed miracle baby, urgh, thunk. There’s your brother, Pizza Boy Delivery Junior.’

  ‘Hallelujah!’ Hold on for a minute, let’s figure out this food/air deal, OK? K. I’m just weird, you know? How about have a neat world for kids to come to? Ha ha, OK, it’s me, OK. Drop ’em like fucking flies, boom. Just fill up the world with ’em. I just don’t get it, you know. I mean, I’m sorry man, you know, kids are fine, just keep ’em away from me. All right? There. All right?’

  Now, get this: I’ve been travelling all over the country on British Air. No smoking on British Air. Now let me get this straight: no smoking, right, but they allow children. Little fairness, huh? ‘Well, smoking bothers me.’ Well guess what? I was on this one flight, right, I’m flying, I’m sleeping on the plane, I’m fucking ‘knackered’. Very tired, right, and I feel this tapping on my head. And I look up, and there’s this little kid . . . loose! On the fucking plane, he’s just loose. It’s his playground in the sky. And he has decided that his job is to repetitively tap me on the top of the head. I look across the aisle at his mom. She’s just smiling, you know. Guy next to the mom goes, ‘They’re so cute when they’re that small.’ Isn’t that amazing, letting your kid run loose on a fucking plane? And then the kid runs over to the emergency exit, and he starts flipping that handle to the door. And the guy next to the mom starts to get up, and I go:

  ‘Wait a minute . . . we’re about to learn an important lesson right here. (makes sound of explosive decompression) Boy, you’re right: the smaller he gets, the cuter he is. God, I wish I had a camera right now. With a telescopic lens. Love to get a picture of his face when his pudgy little legs hit that farmhouse down there. Aah, aah, kids. Ha ha ha. Stewardess, since we got a breeze in here can we smoke now? Fairly well circulated at this point.’ (breathes in)

  True story. But, you know.

  Why is marijuana against the law? It grows naturally upon our planet. Doesn’t the idea of making nature against the law seem to you a bit . . . paranoid? You know what I mean? It’s nature. How do you make nature against the fucking law? It grows everywhere. Serves a thousand different functions, all of them positive. To make marijuana against the law is like saying God made a mistake. You know what I mean? It’s like God on the seventh day looking down on his creation:

  ‘There it is, my creation, perfect and holy in all ways. Now, I can rest . . . Oh my Me . . . I left fucking pot everywhere . . . I should never have smoked that joint on the third day . . . shit . . . That was the day I created possums. Ha ha ha. Ohhh, still gives me a chuckle . . . If I leave pot everywhere, that’s gonna give humans the impression they’re supposed to . . . use it. Now I have to create Republicans.’

  ‘And God wept’ . . . I believe is the next verse. You know what I mean? I believe that God left certain drugs growing naturally upon our planet to help speed up and facilitate our evolution. OK, not the most popular idea ever expressed. Either that or you’re real high and agreeing with me in the only way you can right now. ‘I forgot the code – is it two blinks “yes”, one blink “no”?’ Do you think magic mushrooms growing atop cow shit was an accident? Where do you think the phrase, ‘that’s good shit’ came from? Why do you think Hindus think cows are holy? Holy shit! Why do I think McDonald’s is the Anti-Christ? That’s God’s little accelerator pad for our evolution. Let’s think about this, man.

  For billions of years – sorry, fundamentalists – we were nothing but apes. (makes chimp noises) Probably too stupid to catch a cow, you know . . . (chimp noises and mime ending in laughter). ‘I think we can go to the moon.’ (hums theme tune from 2001: A Space Odyssey ) That is exactly how it fucking happened. Except for the marketing people, whose belief is, ‘No, it was proven that ah it might be a good market on the moon and aah and a lot of people went up there, good numbers, good space numbers . . .’ Urgh. Save your story of creation, please.

  Not all drugs are good, now. OK? Some of ’em are great. Just gotta know your way around ’em is all. Yeah, I’ve had good times on drugs. I’ve had bad times on drugs, too. I mean, shit, look at this haircut. There are dangers. Think some of y’all have tripped here before perhaps, yeah? I used to love tripping, man. There’s always one guy when you’re tripping who wants you to do something to enhance the trip. You know what I’m talking about.

  ‘You’re tripping? Oh duuude, you gotta play miniature golf.’

  ‘Ha ha ha ha ha, yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking, man. I’m just sitting over here watching the pyramids be built by UFOs right now, but get me to that fucking golf course. I’m watching Jesus flying around on a unicorn, but I bet that little miniature golf would be just the thing to make this trip . . . peak. So you guys can use your legs, huh? No, it’s just that I’m turning into a fish right now and ah . . . how ’bout I meet you there later? . . . Thanks, I’m pretty fucking high right now. Thank you.’

  You know. You just gotta be careful. I don’t know what you gotta be, fuck it. We got pulled over tripping on acid one night, pulled over by the cops. Don’t recommend it. Cops don’t appreciate fish driving around. They frown on that. Long night, man. Cops were tapping on this window. We’re staring at him in this mirror.

  ‘How tall are you?’

  ‘It’s a liddle cop, look at him!’

  ‘How does he drive that big fucking car?’

  ‘Urr, there could be thousands of them, shit!’

  ‘What are we gonna do?’

  ‘Let’s put him in the jar.’

  Made perfect sense at that moment. Put him in a jar, poke some holes in the lid, leave him by the road.

  ‘You’ll never get us, copper. Ha ha.’

  ‘We’ll send some little firemen to let you out.’

  ‘Hey I bet they know where the miniature
golf course is!’

  ‘Boo! Ha ha. Fuck it, they scared us.’

  ‘Son, d’you wanna stand up, please?’

  ‘I just found the driver.’

  ‘We don’t need a driver, we’re playing miniature golf.’

  True story. Now, later, when I was released . . . I mean spiritually . . . I feel . . .

  ‘I need to see some ID.’

  ‘I’m me, he’s him, you’re you.’

  ‘Put your hands against the car, please.’

  ‘Which one? The UFO, the unicorn or your cruiser?’

  Drugs have done good things for us. If you don’t believe they have, do me a favor – take all your albums, tapes, and CDs and burn ’em, cos you know what? The musicians who made that great music that has enhanced your lives throughout the years? Rrrrreal fucking high, ha ha ha ho ho ho ho. OK And these other musicians today who don’t do drugs, and in fact speak out against them? Boy, do they suck! What a coincidence! Ball-less, soulless, spiritless, corporate little bitches, suckers of Satan’s cock, each and every one of them. (makes snorting, snarling noise) ‘We’re rock stars against drugs, cos that’s what the President wants.’ Aw, suck Satan’s cock. That’s what we want, isn’t it? Government-approved rock ’n’ roll? Whooo, we’re partying now!