by Bill Hicks
‘We’re rock stars who do Pepsi Cola commercials.’ (makes snorting, snarling noise) ‘Suck Satan’s cock. Put that big scaly pecker down your gullet. Drink that black worm jism. Drink it! Fill your little bellies. Ha ha haaaaa. Send in Vanilla Ice. Hello Vanilla. Says here on your application you have no talent, and yet you want to be a star. I think something can be arranged. (Whoosh, crash!) Suck Satan’s cock. (makes snorting, snarling noise) I will lower the standards of the earth. (snorting, snarling) I will put fifty-six channels of American Gladiators on every TV. I will put all the money in the hands of fourteen-year-old girls. They will think you are charismatic, deep and edgy. (snorting; makes sound of screaming orgasm) Send in MC Hammer on your way out. Hello Hammer. Back again, huh?’
Boy, that Hammer. There was another boat that left me on the island, man.
‘Bill, are you gonna get on the Hammer boat with us?’
‘No, I’d rather stay here and eat my own flesh.’
(makes boat horn sound)
Totally mystifying, I mean, you know, you could sit and explain it to me from now until, well, the end of time, and I’ll go, ‘Fucking don’t get it, man.’ I, I, I, it . . . it’s geni— it’s geni— it’s con . . . genital? It’s, err, genetic! Maybe it is genital, hey, wait a minute. Freud, come here! ‘Hammer’s a great dancer.’ Whaaat? The guy’s gotta sand crab in his knickers. He’s not dancing – he’s having a fit! That’s Satan’s sperm eating its way through the lining of his stomach. (makes snorting, snarling noise) Fifteen minutes almost up, Hammer! (snorting, snarling, then crashing noise) Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Send in Marky Mark. And the beat goes . . . yeah. I don’t know, it’s good for the voice. Hey, don’t fuck with me, man. You know what I mean though – am I the only one that’s fucking lost here?
You never see positive drugs stories on the news, do ya? Isn’t that weird? Cos most of the experiences I’ve had on drugs, were rrreal fucking positive. Ah. Who are these morons they’re finding, that’s what I wanna know. I used to want to call the news:
‘Come over to our house! Watch Tommy, he’s a pig – film him!’
‘Oink oink, oink oink.’
‘Hee hee, he’s been doing that for hours. He’s killing us. You getting all that?’
You know what I mean? Always that same LSD story; you’ve all seen it. ‘Young man on acid, thought he could fly, jumped out of a building. What a tragedy.’ What a dick, fuck him! He’s an idiot. If he thought he could fly, why didn’t he take off from the ground first? Check it out. You don’t see ducks lining up to catch elevators to fly south. They fly from the ground, you moron. Quit ruining it for everybody. He’s a moron, he’s dead – good. We lost a moron – fucking celebrate. Boy, I just felt the world get lighter, we lost a moron. Put on the Hammer album, I’m ready to dance! . . . ‘We lost a moron.’ I don’t mean to sound cold or cruel or vicious, but I am, so that’s the way it comes out. Professional help is being sought.
How about a positive LSD story? Wouldn’t that be newsworthy, just for once? To base your decision on information rather than scare tactics and superstitions . . . and lies? I think it would be newsworthy:
‘Today, a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration. That we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There is no such thing as death, life is only a dream and we’re the imagination of ourselves. Here’s Tom with the weather.’
You’ve been fantastic and I hope you enjoyed it. There is a point – is there a point to all of this? Let’s find a point. Is there a point to my act? I would say there is. I have to. The world is like a ride at an amusement park. And when you choose to go on it, you think that it’s real because that’s how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and chills, and it’s very brightly colored, and it’s very loud and it’s fun, for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time, and they begin to question – is this real, or is this just a ride? And other people have remembered, and they come back to us. They say, ‘Hey! Don’t worry, don’t be afraid, ever, because, this is just a ride.’ And we . . . kill those people. Ha ha ha. ‘Shut him up! We have a lot invested in this ride. SHUT HIM UP! Look at my furrows of worry. Look at my big bank account and my family. This just has to be real.’ It’s just a ride. But we always kill those good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok. But it doesn’t matter because: it’s just a ride. And we can change it any time we want. It’s only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings and money. A choice, right now, between fear and love.
The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love, instead, see all of us as one. Here’s what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride. Take all that money that we spend on weapons and defence each year, and instead spend it feeding, clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would many times over, not one human being excluded, and we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, for ever, in peace. Thank you very much, you’ve been great. I hope you enjoyed it. London, you were fantastic, thank you, thank you very much.
(three gunshots)
Recorded Live at the Oxford Playhouse, UK
(11 November 1992)46
It’s great to be here, wherever I am. I always love it when I’m here. (sighs) If I’ve never been here before, it’s great to be back, and ah . . . Pardon the way I’m dressed. I just got back from my wedding in Cowley and ah . . . I’d like you to meet my new bride, but she’s . . . hurling in the toilet right now, and she’ll be out later, soon as she’s done. (shouts from audience) All right, one at a time now. Let’s go now. Gonna have to take a number.
People often ask me where I stand politically. It’s not that I disagree with Bush’s economic policy or his foreign policy, it’s that I believe . . . he was a child of Satan here to destroy the planet Earth. Little to the left. And it’s weird – politics does make strange bedfellows, man. You know, when the dust settles, to see what side you’re on. It’s really odd, you know what I mean? I was reading in the paper on ah Tuesday, Wednesday, after the elections were over, and there was a quote from Saddam Hussein, going: ‘We have nothing against America. We just want to see George Bush beheaded, and his head kicked down the road like a soccer ball.’ I’m thinking, ‘That’s what I wanna see. Cool, me and Hussein! We’re like this, man! Saddam!’ You know Hussein is just still laughing in some basement bunker somewhere when that fucking election came around and he lost, huh? That’s what bugged me– Hussein’s still in power, that’s the crack-up of all time to me, you know. CIA has a plot to get rid of him. It’s a plot they’ve used before to get rid of world leaders. Only problem they’re havin’ is convincing Hussein, you know . . . to fly to Dallas . . . and ah, yeah. I think, once there, the plan is fairly, you know, we got it. It’s pretty operable. Can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you, Saddam. (laughs)
But ah, see, you know what bugged me about the whole election? Was that they made it, you know, they totally reduced it to this worship of money, and that’s what they made the whole election about, was taxes, you know? Voting with your wallet, you know what I mean? People would say to me, ‘Bill, you vote for Clinton, he’s gonna raise your taxes, OK? I mean, he’ll tell you he’s not . . . but he’s gonna. A vote for Clinton is a vote for higher taxes, Bill.’ See, I have news for ya, folks: there’s other reasons not to vote for George Bush than taxes, OK? I don’t know what’s happened to us as a world – maybe twelve years of Republicanism has made us think this way. But the reason I didn’t vote for George Bush is because George Bush, along with Ronald Reagan, presided over an administration whose policies towards South America included genocide.47 (laughs) So, yeah, you see . . . the reason I didn’t vote for him is cos he’s a mass murderer. Yeah. I, yeah. OK. Yeah. Yeah. I’ll . . . I’ll pay that extra nickel on, you know, a litre of petrol just knowing little brown kids aren’t being clu
bbed to death like baby seals in Honduras so Pepsi can put a plant down there. I’ll pay the extra nickel. And Bush, looking horrible the last few days, was wonderful to watch. Just little– he was just whiney and little– he looked terrible. He looked like Skeletor, man. For Hallowe’en they put a candle in the back of his throat, and he went out as a jack-o’-lantern. ‘Heh, heh, heh, heh.’ But he’s trying to buy votes, you know. He sells 164 fighter jets to South Korea, he sells 240 tanks to Kuwait, and then he has these speeches where he goes, ‘We still live in a dangerous world.’ Thanks to you! Fuck, before that Kuwait had rocks, man.
He authorizes the production of more Stealth Bombers. The invisible fighter jet: I guess to help us defend ourselves against the invisible countries that threaten us every fucking day . . . to be named later. I’m looking around the globe – there’s no one that can threaten America ever again. It’s over. We know Russia was a fucking lie, anyway. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing anywhere. How does it feel to find out we are the evil empire? Ha ha ha! There’s no one who can threaten us, man, and I’m talking now only of countries we don’t arm first, OK? So if you wanna argue on that level, you have a point. We keep arming these little countries and then going blowing the shit out of ’em. We’re like the bullies of the globe. We’re like Jack Palance in the movie Shane, throwing the pistol at the sheep herder’s feet.
‘Pick it up.’
‘I don’t wanna pick it up. You’ll shoot me.’
‘Pick up the gun.’
‘I don’t want any trouble, mister. I just came into town to get some hard rock candy for the kids and some . . . gingham for my wife. Let me get back to my sheep farm, mister. I don’t want no trouble.’
‘Pick up the gun. (three gunshots) You all saw him. He had a gun.’
(singing) ‘America.’ That’s my little Western skit.
You know, find out Bush has sold weapons to Iraq since ’86. Some of your fuckers have been selling weapons to ’em too, huh? That’s what bugged me about Bush, man, this whole thing about him being a foreign policy expert, you know what I mean? ‘Yeah, well, you know, when it comes to foreign policy, George Bush is the man I trust. He’s got the . . . you know, experience and the . . . look at the coalition against Iraq. Incredible. Incredible, that huge coalition, that giant coalition that included . . . England.’ Yeah, that must’ve been hard. The two predominantly white nations going blowing the shit out of this little brown nation. What a hard sell that must have been for John Major, huh?
‘John, George Bush. How are ya? Good. We have disgruntled masses getting really bored here. How about a little fireworks? Well, let’s go through the Rolodex. No, Noriega – got him. Oh, here’s one – Saddam Hussein. That’ll look good. Let’s go kill some sand niggers, yeah?’
‘Brilliant, brilliant. We’ll be there. Right, right. We’ll be there. Brilliant. Yes, we’ve already armed them, too. It’s brilliant. We know exactly what we’re up against. It’s brilliant.’
What a huge coalition it was, you know? ‘Oh, France had a coupla planes in there.’ Yeah, yeah. We told ’em, ‘Put a few fucking planes in or Mickey Mouse leaves the country.’ ‘Hurry let’s get back in line . . . for the rollercoaster. We have done our duty.’
Selling weapons since ’86 to Iraq, and I wondered about that. During the Persian Gulf War, those intelligence reports before it all started:
‘Oh Iraq, they have incredible weapons, incredible weapons.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Well . . . we looked at the receipt . . . but as soon as that cheque clears, we’re goin’ in. What time’s the bank open? Eight? We’re going in at nine . . . for God ’n’ country ’n’. . . here’s a flag. Whatever symbol y’all need. Let’s go! Come on, we’re killing sand niggers. Let’s go!’
‘He’s a Hitler. He’s a Hitler. Saddam Hussein is a Hitler.’ What does that make you – Goebbels? Quit arming him. ‘He’s a Hitler.’ He was your friend last week. ‘He’s a Hitler now.’ Trying to motivate people, you know. It’s unbelievable how they got ’em. People were just like:
‘He’s a Hitler – yeah, Bush. Get real, man.’
‘You like dogs, don’t ya?
‘Yeah, we love dogs.’
‘Well, we have an intelligence report that says here Saddam Hussein likes to fuck dogs in the ass and then take their spine out and use it as a toothpick.’
‘You’re shittin’ me. Let’s go kill this guy. I had no idea he was that much of a maniac. This is for Rover!’ (crash) ‘That’s what intelligence reports say. He’s a Hitler. He fucks dogs. Mm-hm.’
‘I don’t know. You’re sure that’s true?’
‘You like kittens?’
‘Yeah, I like kittens. They’re cute.’
‘He boils ’em and eats ’em.’
‘Fucker. This is for Fluffy!’ (three explosions)
They say anything they want, you see, and you’ll follow them, cos we are the docile masses. (singing) ‘We’re the puppet people! Ho, put it on our TV, it’s true. Put it on our TV, it’s true. We’re the puppet people! Hey, guide us, you fuckin’ scum! Hey, we’re the puppet people.’ And we are.
I was here during the riots. That was weird. That was the last time I was here. This time there’s an election. Last time, a riot. I came over the day the riots happened, too. That was what was so weird about it. I left LA:
‘Bye Bill, enjoy England.’
‘I will, y’all have fun while I’m gone.’
‘We will, Bill. Bye. Bye. Bye. See you. Bye-bye.’
Land at Heathrow Airport eleven hours later, pass a newspaper stand: ‘LA Burns to Ground.’ Shit, did I leave a cigarette lit? How much are these? See if my picture’s in here. Right, and I’m over here, trying to get news of the riots, right? You got four channels, all four are playing snooker for no fucking apparent reason. What is this? Different angles of the table? ‘For north/south coverage of snooker, turn to BBC2. For east/west coverage of snooker, turn to BBC1. For the overhead view, turn to BBC3. For a look under Jimmy White’s left arm, turn to Channel 4.’ You’re going, ‘Duh, how much longer are you gonna continue that impression, Bill? Any more in the act?’ (laughs) Who is this guy Jimmy White? Last time I was here: riots. I turn on the TV; there was snooker: Jimmy White. Nine months earlier, the last thing I saw when I left the hotel room, turned the TV off before I did, what’s that? Jimmy fucking White. Does this guy have a bad home life or something? Let’s get him home. Let’s iron that vest. I mean, I like snooker, don’t get me wrong, you know. I think it’s a little slow, you know. Perhaps could use ah some livening up. You know what snooker could use? Riot. That’d be cool, cues . . . But I’ve figured out why it’s so long, man. It’s cos this little fucking old guy – not the two players – this little old guy keeps taking the balls out of the pockets and putting them back on. ‘Hey you asshole. He got it in. Let’s go! The game’s almost over. He has to come over again . . . It’s gonna take all fucking night.’
So I’m trying to get news of the riots. Nothing but snooker on, right, and ah all my friends here trying to sympathize with me. ‘Oh, Bill, crime is horrible. If it’s any consolation, Bill, crime is horrible here too.’ ‘Shut up. This is Hobbiton and I’m Bilbo Hicks, OK? You live in a fairyland. Fucking crime. I was reading the papers here. You have crimes like: “Yesterday some hooligans knocked over a dustbin in Shaftsbury” The hooligans are loose. The hooligans are loose. What if they become ruffians? I would hate to be a dustbin in Shaftsbury tonight. (singing) No one knows what it’s like to be a dustbin . . . in Shaftsbury . . . with hooligans.’ It’s such a stupid word, you know? Hooligan. Very unthreatening word. I don’t even know what a hooligan is. I think I could take twenty or thirty of ’em. I picture these real pale guys in penny loafers and no socks. ‘We’re the hooligans.’ Pop! Ow, you fucker. Come here. ‘No, have to catch us. You corner me, I might become a scallywag. I’m a ne’er do well.’ There was something in the paper yesterday: ‘Some hooligans caused a rumpus.’ Not
quite the same as Crip and Blood48 . . . that’s a little more cutting. Little more telling. Blood. Hooligan. Bloods versus the hooligans.
Pop!
‘Hey man, what you doin’ motherfucker. Come ’ere.’
‘Got to catch us!’
‘Yeah, I’m trying that now. (gunshots) There . . . catch your skinny pale ass. How’s that?’
‘Ow, he got me in the rumpus. The Blood hit me in the rumpus.’
You know, Crip, Blood, rumpus. No, I don’t know. You do not have crime like we have, and you should be very grateful. Our crime is like: ‘Yesterday a student beheaded his teacher. Named “Best in the Class”.’ Holding up the head.
I love talking about the Warren Committee. I love talking about the Kennedy assassination. I really love it, man. I was just down in Dallas, Texas . . . and ah you can actually go . . . to the School Book Depository on the sixth floor. It’s a museum . . . called the Assassination Museum. And they have the window set up to look exactly like it did on that day. And it’s really accurate, cos . . . Oswald’s not in it. Incredible, painstaking detail. I don’t know who did the research, but I applaud them. But it’s true. It’s called the Sniper’s Nest, and you know, the boxes are set up, it’s glassed in, you can’t actually get to the window. And the reason they did that, of course, is they didn’t want thousands of tourists every year, you know, coming through to the window, going, ‘No way.’ Yeah, that would have started this truth inertia happening. Who knows when it would’ve stopped. But there’s no way. I mean, you can get to the window next to it, and you look down, you go, ‘I can’t see the fucking road from here, man.’ There’s a tree right here. There’s no way, unless Oswald was hanging by his toes . . . upside down from the window ledge. Surely someone woulda seen that? Either that or some pigeons grabbed on to him and flew him over the motorcade. You know, there was rumors of anti-Castro pigeons seen drinking in bars . . . the week before the assassination. Someone overhead them saying, ‘Coup, coup. Coup.’