by Bill Hicks
You know, Gallagher. Only America could produce a comic named Gallagher, who ends his show by destroying good food with a sledgehammer. Gee, I wonder why we’re hated the world over? All these fat Americans on the front row: ‘Haw, haw, haw, haw! Now this is comedy. Haw haw haw! That Bill Hicks is jus’ bitter. I get tired listening to him. Why can’t he hit fruit with a hammer? He’s just jealous he didn’t think of it.’ Folks, I did think of that. I was two at the time, and I said, ‘This is real stupid.’ Fucking idiot. I could have been the young Gallagher in diapers, walking around being a millionaire, franchising myself, but no. I had to have this weird thing about trying to illuminate the collective unconscious and help humanity. Fucking moron! Gallagher destroying good food – I guarantee you there’s gonna be no Gallagher world tour any time soon, and if there are there will be no dates in Somalia, OK? I don’t know if those little bags of skin and bones would be able to appreciate Gallagher’s particular wit.
‘He destroys good food with a hammer. We must go and get front-row tickets and hopefully catch a watermelon rind and live another day. We are here to see Gallagher. We must live another day. Put us on the front row, so my child Hibiscus can eat one more day.’
‘Will that be in the horsefly or non-horsefly section?’
(makes sound of fly)
‘We are here to see Gallagher and see his ending show.’
Gallagher. Meanwhile, this is my last show ever. I’m tired, folks. Tired of spreading the news. Folks, it’s time to evolve ideas. That’s all we’re left with. There’s gonna be no more thumbs coming down the pipe, it ain’t happening. Sure, they’ll be aberrations in evolution – people who take steroids, those fucking guys who pump up, people who do punctures and, you know, tattoo . . . there’s gonna be different aberrations. But the true evolution is to evolve ideas. What do I mean? ‘What do you mean?’ What do I mean? Well . . . well, for instance, how about this? Why is the drugs tsar of this country – first of all, why is there a drugs tsar? Forget that – why is the drugs tsar of this country a cop? Why isn’t he instead someone who’s been through recovery, who has had an alcohol and/or drug addiction and overcome it, and offer instead hope and compassion, rather than condemnation and jail sentences to drug abusers? See, that would be evolving an idea. See, drugs abusers, folks, are not criminals, they’re sick, and putting sick people in jail . . . does that make sense? (singing) ‘Na da da na da da.’ It really doesn’t. And the fact they wonder why kids do drugs, well, you know, the reason is a) they feel good, but b) the hypocrisy of watching beer pushed down our fucking throats every commercial with women basically almost the bottles in their twat at this point. ‘Beer. Pop that beer, honey. Boy, it tastes good, makes you look good and feel good, too.’ The fact that alcoholism is totally a fucking scourge in this country and responsible for every fucking broken home, every fucking beaten child, every fucking beaten wife . . . we overlook that, wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Cigarettes: death – you know, nothing. Pot, meanwhile, a drug that kills . . . no one – and let’s put it in a time frame – ever . . . pot is against the law. Now does that make sense? Do you think your child is supposed to accept that, or is he supposed to look at you and go, ‘You hypocritical motherfucker, I’m shooting heroin in the vein under my cock, cos I hate your fucking lying society and your lie that you fucking live.’ That’s why your kids do drugs. OK? Because they see that we’re not growing up and taking responsibility and we’re fucking liars, you see, and kids sense that immediately. They have that instinct. Anyway, if you want a better world, legalize pot. That’s my point. You wanna end the deficit, legalize pot. Pot is a better drug than alcohol, and I’ll prove it to ya. You’re at a ball game, you’re at a concert, someone’s really violent, aggressive and obnoxious. Are they drunk, or are they smoking pot? (audience) ‘Drunk!’ Wow, we all know the truth. I’ve never seen people on pot get in a fight, because it’s fucking impossible.
‘Hey buddy!’
‘Hey what?’
End of argument. Say you get in a car accident and you’ve been smoking pot. You’re only going four miles an hour. (makes sound of car crash)
‘Oh shit, we hit something.’
‘Forgot to open the garage door, dude.’
‘It’s OK, I forgot we were going in reverse.’
At least no one was hurt. The garage door has to be replaced – boom! A job has been created. I got new stuff, Mr Kreskin. I’m just building a case. See how confident you are in a minute. We ain’t even pulled our ’chutes yet.
They lie about marijuana. Marijuana makes you unmotivated: lie. 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’s a difference. ‘Sure, I could get up at dawn, get in traffic, go to a job I hate that does not inspire me creatively whatsoever for the rest of my life, sure I could do that. (inhales, as if from spliff) Or . . . I could sleep till noon, get up and learn how to play the sitar. (exhales) (in monotone, repeatedly) ‘Now ning now ning ning ning now ning now ning ning ning now ning now ning ning ning now ning now’ – what is it, one string? How fucking hard is that? ‘now ning now ning ning ning now ning now’ (makes sound of crickets chirruping) In harmony with the crickets! ‘Now ning now’ (crickets) Here comes the mother ship! We shall rock on! The universe is our playground. That’s how you evolve ideas, OK?
I’ll give you another example. Confucius used to say, ‘What is the sound of one hand clapping?’ And he said it as an enigmatic way to say there would be no sound, but you know what I say to that? (claps with one hand) Fuck Confucius, let’s move on. It’s time for a new philosophy, folks. One based on, yes, the principles of Jesus, which were love your brother as yourself, because you know what? He is yourself. Literally. Ha ha ha ha ha ha! We are literally all one. OK. The body is an illusion, you see, cos God doesn’t create things that can be destroyed . . . cos he’s God, dig it? We have miscreated this world. It’s a dream. What’s that old song – ‘Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream’? See, we knew it as children. We forgot it since. Maybe it was just me. Maybe y’all are going, ‘Bill, we knew that the whole time. Bill, do you know that you’re at a comedy club and . . . this is not your compound? And, you know, you’re kind of funny at times, but we got babysitters and ah, you know, it’s a cute show, you dance around, you make faces, you know, it’s fine, but you’re not telling us anything we don’t already know, Bill. Come out with the good stuff.’
OK, here’s another idea that needs to be punctured, then evolve. a) The idea that childbirth is a miracle. Now, I don’t know who started this little hur-rumour, but it is not a miracle. Sorry. It’s not a miracle, no more a miracle than eating food and having a turd fall out of your butt, all right? It is a chemical reaction and a biological reaction, the end. OK? You wanna hear a miracle? A miracle’s raising a kid who doesn’t talk at a fucking movie theatre. There . . . miracle. A miracle’s raising a kid that doesn’t run into my crotch at the supermarket cos they have no peripheral vision.
‘Where’s that little miracle, come here!’
‘Mommy!’
‘Come ’ere!’
‘Mommy where’s my two mommies?’
I might have to forgive this human and go meet his two mommies. I’ve never met two mommies. You must be a lucky little boy. Two mommies . . . do they hug and kiss on the couch? God, I love that. Nothing more beautiful than a woman making love to a woman. Sorry to be so crass, but that’s a fact. Now, must move on to my show. I’m just . . . my final show, I might add.
I’ll go you one further: childbirth is not only not a miracle, childbirth isn’t natural. ‘What do you mean, Bill? It’s the most natural thing in the world.’ Wrong. First of all, no guy in this room wants children. No guy wants children. No. They don’t. Any guy who thinks or says he wants children is no longer a guy but a pussy-whipped freak of nature, who should be at home reading Donahue transcripts, renting Alan Alda films and b
uying Michael Bolton albums, cos you’re no longer a guy and you’re out of the guy club. You’re out. Guys don’t want children, because guys are children and we don’t want the competition. That simple. ‘You mean there’s gonna be something in the house cuter than me? This must be stopped. I’m already sulking. They’re not even born yet and all you do is talk about the little baby. It’s women! Women!’ This is my new character. It’s all I do with it, but I think there’s potential. ‘It’s women! Women!’ I don’t know, I think the character’s gonna grow, and along with my bitterness until boom, a tower and a gun. And you’ll . . . finally I’ll have my own special. (laughs) Women have this unholy void inside of them.
‘I need something to love.’
‘Love me, you bitch, I’m right here!’
‘You’re acting childish.’
‘Perfect! I will be your child-man. Honey, if I promise never to mature . . . I think I can pull this off.’
And I’ll go you one further, and this is the routine that has virtually ended my career in America. And I’m gonna end on this, but ah . . . you’ve been a great crowd. If you have children here tonight, and I assume some of you do, I’m sorry to tell you this: they are not special. I’ll let that sink in. La da da da da. I know a lot of parents who are getting their backs a little stiff right now. ‘Hey wait a minute. My child’s special.’ Don’t get me wrong, folks. I know you think they’re special. You think that. I’m telling you they’re not. See, I know . . . they’re not. Do you know every time a guy comes, he comes 200 million sperm, did you know that? 200 million sperm, and you mean to tell me you think your child is special, because one out of 200 million sperm connected that load? Gee, what are the fucking odds? (laughs) 200 million – do you know what that means? I have wiped entire civilizations . . . off of my chest . . . with a grey gym-sock. That is special. Entire nations have flaked and crusted in the hair around my navel! That is special. And I want you to think about that, you two-egg-carrying beings out there, with that holier-than-thou, we-have-the-gift-of-life attitude. I have tossed universes in my underpants while napping. You’ve been great. I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks a lot. Thanks for coming to my final show.
(Plays out to ‘Killing in the Name of by Rage Against the Machine. Hicks places a watermelon on a stool, lifts mike stand like a sledgehammer, looks at audience and throws stand down. Mimes ‘motherfucker’ in time with music while giving audience the finger with both hands. Walks away.)
Letter to John Lahr
(January 1994)
Dear John,
Here is the material (verbatim) that CBS’s Standards and Practices Found ‘unsuitable’ for the viewing public in 1993, Year of Our Lord. THESE are the ‘Hot Spots’ I believe were most mentioned. I’m going to include audience response as well, for it does play a part in my thoughts on the incident which will follow the Jokes. Jokes, John, this is what America now fears – one man with a point of view, speaking out unafraid of our vaunted institutions, or the loathsome superstitions the CBS hierarchy feels the masses (the herd) use as their religion. Oops! I’m getting ahead of myself with my thoughts. Let’s go now to the afternoon of October 1st, 1993. The place: The Ed Sullivan Theatre, where The Late Show With David Letterman now reigns supreme amongst the many Late-night talk shows that have sprung up like poisonous mushrooms since Johnny’s retirement. The time – 6.40 p.m. ‘Time for the final guest of the night, a ‘very entertaining comedian – Bill Hicks. Bill, come on out here!’ The audience applauds as I stroll out in my new bright fall colors – an outfit bought just for the show, very unlike my usual all black ensemble and reflective of my bright and cheerful mood. I’m feeling good. The set I’ve prepared has been approved and reap-proved by Mary Connelly, the segment producer of the show. It is the same exact set that was approved for the previous Friday, the Night where I was ‘bumped’ due to lack of time. It is the Material that I’m excited about performing for it best reflects – out of all the other eleven appearances I’ve made on the show – myself. Let us begin . . .
Bill:
Good evening! I’m very excited to be here tonight, and I’m very excited because I got some great news today. I finally got my own TV Show coming out as a replacement show this fall!
The audience applauds.
Bill:
Don’t worry, it’s not a talk show.
The audience laughs.
Bill:
Thank God!
Bill (cont.):
It’s a half hour weekly show that I will host, entitled ‘Let’s Hunt and Kill Billy Ray Cyrus’.
Audience bursts into laughter and applause.
Bill:
I think it’s fairly self-explanatory – each week we let the Hounds of Hell loose and chase that jar-head, no talent, cracker-idiot all over the globe till I finally catch that fruity little pony-tail of his, pull him to his Chippendales knees, put a shotgun in his mouth, ‘Pow!’
Audience is applauding and laughing through-out this run.
Bill (cont.):
Then we’ll be back in ’94 with ‘Let’s Hunt and Kill Michael Bolton’.
Audience laughs and applauds.
Bill:
Yeah, so you can see with guests like this, our run will be fairly limitless.
Audience laughs.
Bill:
And we’re kicking the whole series off with our M.C. Hammer, Vanilla Ice, Marky Mark Christmas Special . . .
Audience laughs and applauds.
Bill:
And I don’t want to give any surprises away, but the first one we hunt and kill on that show is Markie Mark, because his pants keep falling around his ankles and he can’t run away . . .
Bill Mimes a hobbling Markie Mark. The audience laughs.
Bill:
Yeah, I get to cross-bow him right in the abs. It’s a beautiful thing. Bring the family. TAPE IT. It’s definitely a show for the nineties . . .
Audience applauds.
At this point I did a line about men dancing. Since it was never mentioned as a reason for excising me from the show, let’s skip ahead to the next ‘Hot Point’ that was mentioned. (By the way, the Joke on men dancing got a huge laugh.) But let’s move forward to the following Joke.
Bill:
You know, I consider myself a fairly open-minded person, but speaking of Homosexuality, something has come to my attention that has shocked even me. Have you heard about these new grade school books for children they’re trying to add to the curriculum, to help children understand the gay, lifestyle? One’s called ‘Heather’s Two Mommies’, the other one is called ‘Daddy’s . . . New Room-mate’.
Here I make a shocked, disgusted face.
Bill:
Folks, I gotta draw the line here and say this is absolutely disgusting. It is grotesque, and it is pure evil.
Pause.
Bill:
I’m talking, of course, about ‘Daddy’s New Room-mate’.
Audience laughs.
Bill:
‘Heather’s Two Mommies’ is quite Fetching . . . you know they’re hugging on page seven!
Audience laughs.
Bill (lasciviously):
Oooh! Go, Mommies, Go! Oooh! They kiss in chapter four!
Audience laughs.
Bill:
Me and my nephew wrestle over that book every night . . .
Bill mimes his little Nephew jumping up and down.
Bill (as Nephew):
‘Uncle Bill, I’ve gotta do my homework!’
Audience laughs.
Bill:
Shut up and go do your Math! I’m proofreading this for you . . .
Audience laughs. We move directly into the next ‘Hot Point’.
Bill:
You know who’s really bugging me these days? These pro-lifers . . .
Smattering of applause.
Bill:
You ever look at their faces . . . ‘I’m pro-life!’
Here Bill makes a pinched face of hate and fear, his lips are
pursed as though he’s just sucked on a lemon.
Bill:
‘I’m pro-life!’ Boy, they look it, don’t they? They just exude Joie de vivre. You just want to hang with them and play Trivial Pursuit all night long.
Audience chuckles.
Bill:
You know what bugs me about them – if you’re so pro-life, do me a favor – don’t lock arms and block medical clinics. If you’re so pro-life, lock arms and block cemeteries.
Audience laughs.
Bill (cont.):
Let’s see how committed you are to this idea.
Here Bill mimed the pursed lipped pro-lifers locking arms.
Bill (as pro-lifer):
‘She can’t come in!’
Audience laughs
Bill (as confused member of funeral procession):
‘She was ninety-eight. She was hit by a bus!’
Audience laughs
Bill (as pro-lifer):
‘There’s options!’
Audience laughs.
Bill (again as confused funeral procession member):
‘What else can we do – have her stuffed?’
Audience laughs.
Bill:
I want to see pro-lifers with crowbars at funerals opening caskets – ‘Get out!’ Then I’d really be impressed by their mission.
Audience laughs and applauds.
At this point I did a routine on smoking that was never brought up as a ‘Hot Point’, so let’s move ahead to the end of my routine, and another series of jokes that was mentioned as ‘unsuitable’.