Love All the People (New Edition)

by Bill Hicks

  ‘What are these titties gonna do?’

  ‘Ah, jiggle?’

  ‘Son, you’re a genius. Where have you been all our lives?’

  ‘Oh, at the Comedy Pouch in Possum Ridge, Arkansas, you fuck. I had no idea if I said the word “titty” I’d get my own show, but er . . .’

  Damn it! Damn me for not thinking of that. What does everyone love? Titties, yes. I do hope Marky Mark’s abs count as titties, but I don’t know. Don’t be disappointed. I’m sure there’s enough egregious women on this list that I’ll find somewhere down the line. None yet, but . . .

  I don’t know what the deal is, folks. I’m like a 31-year-old curmudgeon, man, you know? Went to a dance club the other night, give you an example. Obviously I wasn’t driving and ah . . . so we wound up at a dance club. Now, I go to dance clubs about once a year, just to justify the other 364 days of the year I spend in my apartment going, ‘God, what fucking idiots!’ and ah . . . yeah, takes one day. I’m like a camel. I go to a dance club, I fill my hump with hate (makes sucking sound), and I can go about a year and the hump starts to go down, and I go back to the dance club (makes sucking sound). I’m the hate camel, you see. And it just takes a brief interlude with humanity to fill my hump and I’m good for about a year. I read Juliette by Yves Beauchemin, big in Montreal, and suddenly I get itchy. I think, ‘Maybe people are OK. Maybe I should get out.’ I go out, (makes sucking sound) and the hump . . . I’ll see ya in a fucking year, you know. Anyway, this girl asked me to dance, which I thought was hilarious. ‘Would you like to dance?’ And I was like, ‘Ah, you read my mind’, you know. ‘That’s why I’m leaning in the darkest corner closest to the exit, you know . . . I’m about to boogie. I’m about to cut a rug.’ But it’s so weird. Women – some women – have this weird myth: you can tell the way a guy is in bed by how he is on a dancefloor. I think that’s so ridiculous. I mean, first of all what does it matter? You know what I mean? If a guy’s on a dancefloor really getting into it and enjoying himself and expressing himself, what does it matter how he is in bed? He’s gay. So . . . real men don’t dance. They sit, sweat and curse. Oh, fuck.

  OK, speaking of homosexuality, something has come to my attention that I feel I must comment on, and let me preface this by saying first of all I am a very open-minded person. I mean, I really am. Being a fella such as myself, who over the course of his life has several times taken his bodyweight in psilocybin magic mushrooms, I’ve had my mind fairly opened. My third eye has been squeegeed. (makes squeaking noise) UFOs? Seen ’em! OK, you know what I mean? I’m out on a limb with Shirley MacLaine, she’s clinging to the trunk, I’m hanging by a twig at the end of the limb. ‘Come on, Shirley! Let’s go! Take another cap, the UFOs are honking! Let’s go!’ ‘Bill, you’re really out there, dude!’ I’m pretty open-minded . . . but something has come to my attention. Now, have you heard about this? These new grade-school books for children to help explain to them the gay lifestyle? You know what I’m talking about? One of ’em is called Heather’s Two Mommies. The other one, Daddy’s New Room-mate. Folks, I’m gonna have to draw the line here and say I find this really fucking disgusting. You know, it’s abhorrent and I think it’s fucking evil, all right? And I’m talking of course about Daddy’s New Room-mate. Heather’s Two Mommies, on the other hand . . . wow! Quite a fetching read. I ah . . . Oooh, they’re hugging on page seven. Ooh, go mommies, go! Heather’s such a lucky girl. I wish I had two mommies. Ooh, they kiss in chapter 11. Ooh! So that is cool, but the other one . . . You know, there’s actually people in the world who consider that a double standard. (laughs) People! What are we gonna do with ’em! Which kills me about being back in LA, the home of fucking phoney false cult religions such as the inner child, this bullshit. God. You know, I’m real tired of this back-slapping humanity fucking movement going on. ‘Aw, humans, aren’t we neat! Come on, we’re keen!’ Folks, we’re a virus with fucking shoes, man. That’s all we are. And this ‘Get in touch with your inner child’ – do me a favour: get in touch with your outer fucking adult, all right? Get off my couch, get a fucking apartment and quit hugging me. You know what’d make your inner child real happy? Get a fucking job. ‘The inner child.’ I think our country’s fairly childish enough. I think we’re in touch with that. Let’s move on to our outer adult – ready? OK. It’s time to evolve. Ready? Go! OK, I’ll go first.

  But . . . no, I’m really down on humanity and it all comes from watching TV, cos when I meet people everyone’s sane and reasonable, right? Then you go home, turn on the TV and you’re like, ‘What the fuck world is that?’ You ever do that? Just watch CNN, just watch the top of the hour. ‘This half hour: war, death, famine, Aids, homeless, recession, depression, deficit, drought, flood, earthquake, fire!’ Then you open your curtain and you look out . . . (makes sound of crickets chirruping) Where’s all this shit happening? I think Ted Turner’s making this shit up! I think Jane won’t fuck him some nights, he goes, ‘Fuck you, I’ll ruin the whole world. Here, read that on the air. By 1994 we will all have Aids – read that on the air. I don’t get laid, no one gets laid.’ I’m writing letters: ‘Jane, blow him, fuck him, jack him off – something! Calm Ted down.’ How about a story about hot-air balloons or something. You know, and I’m drawn to it, you know, you can’t not. It’s like watching a homeless woman give birth in a dumpster to an armless, flippered child – you gotta peek. She’s breastfeeding him Sterno, you gotta . . . he’s flippered and walking around, already nudging garbage cans off with his nose, the lids. You gotta peek. I mean, Jesus! It’s human fucking nature. But do we have to dwell on it? Some little flippered thing, you know. Do we have to keep talking about it? I don’t know.

  But you know who’s really pissing me off, truthfully, is pro-life people. Pro-lifers. Here’s the deal, pro-lifers, if any of y’all are here tonight. Ready? You lose, shut up, go home. It’s real simple: you lose. You lose. Bye-bye. Go home. See you later. You know . . . pro-life. You ever look at their faces? ‘We’re pro-life.’ Don’t they look . . . don’t they just exude joie de vivre, you know? You just feel like playing Pictionary with them all night long, don’t you?

  ‘Er . . . is that a cross?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Er, is that another cross?’

  ‘That’s right. You’re very good.’

  ‘Well, you’re kinda easy to predict . . . being a fundamentalist and all. I’m way ahead of you. I’ve already read the fucking book, boh!’

  Fundamentalist Christians – they’re something to deal with, folks. My dad’s one, it’s fucking frightening. My dad: ‘I believe the Bible’s the literal word of God.’ I go, ‘No, it’s not, Dad. It’s just not.’ ‘Yeah, well, I believe it is.’ ‘Well, you know, some people believe they’re Napoleon, that’s fine, beliefs are neat, cherish ’em, but don’t share ’em like they’re the truth. You see, I have taken my bodyweight in mushrooms (makes squeaking sound). My third eye has been squeegeed. If it was the exact word of God . . . you ready? It’d be real clear and easy to understand! (laughs hysterically) God’s got a way with words, being the creator of language and all.’ (laughs hysterically) OK. You have fifty different sects of Christianity. You know, you can’t even agree on it amongst themselves. But my dad’s just, ‘I believe it’s the literal word of God.’ And I go, ‘It’s not. I can prove it to you. Give me your Bible.’ He goes and gets his Bible. ‘OK.’ I go, ‘What’s it say on the front?’

  ‘Holy Bible.’

  ‘What else does it say?’

  ‘King James’s Version.’

  (laughs) ‘There you go. That’s King James’s Version. Let’s listen to King Willy’s version here.’

  Do you ever notice how people who believe in creationism look really unevolved, you ever notice? They always have big furry eyebrow ridges, long fingers and hairy hands. ‘I believe God created me in one day.’ Looks like he rushed it, but ah . . . me? Billions of years to get the fucking hardened cynic you see before you. God tinkered with me. Kept adding spice.
‘I’m going to make a William. This will take longer than a day. First I must break his fucking heart for sixteen years. I must have women tell him they love him, then leave him. Ha ha ha ha ha! I am creating a William!’

  It’s not as simple as ‘poof, there you are, you know? But pro-life, you know. What does that make us? You know what I mean? You’re anti-choice is what you are. But let me tell you something, if you’re so pro-life, do me a favor, OK? Cos I might agree with you. Let’s just say if you’re so pro-life, don’t lock arms and block medical clinics, OK? Lock arms and block cemeteries. Let’s see how committed you fucking are to this premise.

  ‘She can’t come in.’

  ‘She was ninety-eight, she was hit by a bus.’

  ‘There’s options.’

  ‘What, are we gonna have her stuffed and mounted? She’s starting to stink. Let’s go!’

  I wanna see pro-lifers at funerals with crowbars opening caskets, going, ‘Get out! We’re pro-life. Just look at my face. Don’t I exude love of life?’ Boy, I wanna hang with you. You know what I mean? And I tell you something, watching their actions on the news has really helped me decide how I feel about abortion, and it is a difficult issue. That age-old question: at what point does the foetus become a human being? And I tell you, watching those pro-lifers in action, I realize there’s a lot of adults who haven’t become human beings yet, so start scraping wombs, who could give a . . . you know. I maintain, look, why don’t you adopt a kid that’s already here. Jesus, there’s millions of unwanted kids, man. If you’re so fucking pro-life, adopt a kid who’s in a fucking orphanage and give him a loving home, you know, there’s millions of them. ‘Oh, why don’t you do that? Why don’t you do that?’ I hate kids and couldn’t give a fuck, ah . . . I was recommending to you something. I couldn’t care a fucking less. I ah . . . sorry, I’m throwing my hat in the ring. A new party’s just been created: the People Who Hate People Party. It’s so hard to organize ’em, though.

  ‘People who hate people, come together!’

  ‘Will there be people there?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘I can’t make it then.’

  I know they’re out there. I just can’t get ’em to fucking organize. People who hate people – join hands! You know, it’s just . . . it’s not working out so far, and I know it’s a majority of people. ‘I’m pro-life.’ Strangely enough, that’s the same face non-smokers use. ‘I’m a non-smoker. I’m a pro-life non-smoker.’ Let the party begin. I been getting that look a lot lately, because . . . I started smoking again. (audience claps) Thank you. With support like that, I wonder why I ever quit. ‘Hey whoo! Bill’s smoking, yay!’ What, do you live in Raleigh, North Carolina, what’s your . . . what? Suddenly the economy gets a boost? Fuck! No, I been getting that look a lot lately cos I started smoking again and performing abortions, so, you know, I mean . . . everywhere I turn these . . . Sometimes I can hardly get out of bed. But I just love smoking, folks. I’m sorry. I went nine months without ’em, and I mean what can I tell you? The hook is fucking deep, man, I’m telling you. They just dropped the bait back in the water, ploop, plop! (makes sound of line being drawn in) They weighed me, you know, hung me up. ‘Caught a big one.’

  But I have this theory – actually it’s a hope – that if that scenario is at all true when you die and you go to heaven and St Peter meets you at the gate, if that’s at all true, I believe the first thing he’s gonna ask you is: ‘You got a light?’

  ‘You mean y’all smoke here?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s why it’s heaven. These aren’t clouds, this is cigarette smoke, buddy. Hell is non-smoking. You wanna look down at them for a minute?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I can’t believe what they do to their bodies. It smells like an ashtray. I’m trying to eat my food. Why would they wanna do that to themselves? Do they know how stupid that is?’

  ‘God, how hellish.’

  ‘No shit. Light up and come on in. Hendrix is on harp tonight.’

  (singing) ‘Let me stand next to your fire, yeaaahh.’

  Man, no one beats Hendrix, man. Fuck Eddie Van Halen, fuck Steve Vai, no one beats fuckin’ . . . Hendrix was an alien, OK? His ship landed, they said, ‘Jimi, show ’em how it’s done and we’ll pick you up in 28 years.’ And you know what Jimi said? ‘All riiight.’ He plays his cock, did y’all know that? They just strung his cock. He played it with his teeth. Does that make him gay? (imitates Hendrix playing ‘Star Spangled Banner’) I love people who are dead, for some reason. All my heroes are dead. Keith Richards, for instance. What do you say we do some comedy? I always like to put some comedy in my shows. Here’s an impression of Keith Richards. (puts his cigarette in the microphone stand) Some people start talking to him, it’s so real. ‘Keith!’ Boy, Keith went over the edge years ago. He went over the fucking edge, right, and everyone thought that’s it, Keith’s gone. And then they looked over the edge and there was a fucking ledge, and he had hit and landed on it. There’s a ledge beyond the edge! Keith was like, ‘I hit a fucking ledge. I’m all right. Throw down me guitar, I got a song.’ (imitates opening of ‘Jumping Jack Flash’) (in English accent) ‘There’s a ledge beyond the edge. Keith landed on it, the lucky bloke. A lot of people missed the ledge.’ I love dead people.

  Been travelling a lot as usual. Was over in Australia – very interesting place. Anyone ever been to Australia? Fascinating place. Dig this. Dig this, man. Picture this. Put it in your head and get ready. Clear out your head of everything else: as big as the US is geographically, with as few people living there as are in this room right now. Lot of leg room down under. Literally. ‘No worries, mate.’ Apartments: dollar a month. Two-thousand-acre den. How do you furnish that? ‘With beer caps, mate. A carpet of beer caps.’ But it’s interesting. I found this out. I think it’s so weird that the Australians were originally the criminal class of Great Britain, and the Brits, in order to punish them, sent them to Australia, their own prehistoric, Eden-like island continent. Bummer. (laughs) Boy, you don’t wanna get on the wrong side of them Brits. They’ll fuck you good. What the fuck? What do you wanna bet the crime rate really soared in Great Britain when people figured out where they were gonna be sent to.

  ‘Let me get this straight. You keep the shitty food and the shitty weather, and [. . .] we get the Great Barrier Reef and lobsters the size of canoes. I’m Jack the Ripper.’

  ‘No, I’m Jack the Ripper.’

  ‘I’m Jack the Ripper.’

  ‘We’re all Jack the Ripper. Where’s the fucking boat?’

  (makes sound of boat horn)

  That’s me going over the horizon. (boat horn) It is down under. That’s true too.

  But I was over in Australia during Easter, which was real interesting to note they celebrate Easter the exact same way we do – commemorating the death and resurrection of Jesus by telling our children a giant bunny rabbit left chocolate eggs in the night. Now, I wonder why we’re fucked up as a race. Anybody got any . . . ? You know, I’ve read the Bible. I can’t find the word ‘bunny’ or ‘chocolate’ anywhere in the fucking book. Where do you come up with this shit? Why not goldfish left Lincoln Logs in your sock drawer, you know? As long as you’re making shit up, go hog wild. At least a goldfish with a Lincoln Log on its back going across your carpet has some miraculous connotations.

  ‘Mummy today I woke up and found a Lincoln Log in me sock drawer.’

  ‘That’s the story of Jesus.’

  Who comes up with this shit? The Gideons? By the way, who the fuck are the Gideons? Ever met one? No. Ever seen one? No. But apparently they’re everywhere, running around, putting Bibles in hotel rooms. Every hotel room: ‘This Bible was placed here by a Gideon.’ When? I been here all day, I ain’t seen shit. Saw the housekeeper come and go, saw the minibar come and go, saw the mini-bar guy come and go again . . . those were the old days. I’ve never laid eyes on a fucking Gideon. What are they, Ninjas? Where are they from? Gidea? What the fuck are these people? I’m gonna capture a
Gideon. That’s my new hobby. I am. I’m gonna capture one, man. I’m gonna call the front desk one day and go, ‘Yeah, I don’t seem to have a Bible in my room.’ Probably come through the window on a grappling hook, some Gideon helicopter on the roof, ready to whisk him back to the island of Gidea, where nonstop Bible printing is going on. ‘God, I did see one. He was masked and had a fucking samurai sword. They are out there.’