Bad Rapping HM The Pedestrian Martin's Horse The Ballad of Dan McGroo The Train
Black Cross HM The Policeman Murder The Chairs (4 Way Bit) To Swing Or Not To Swing
Boston Tea Party Horses Mouth My Own Railroad The Chastity Belt Willie The Shake
Buckly's First Jet Ride Is This The Sticker? Nero The Gasser  
Fire Chief James Dean People (Epilogue) The Gettysburg Address
Georgia Sweet And Kind Jonah and The Whale Religion The Hip Einie
Gods Own Drunk Let It Down Scrooge The Hip Gahn  
Governor Slugwell Lions Speak For Yourself, John The Nazz  
H Bomb Maharaja Subconscious Mind The Pied Piper
Hip Hiawatha Marc Antony Supermarket The Raven

Please, flipped and grooved by this very, very gracious group of lords and ladies here at the Marquis de Moopul's swinging Palace of Joy. Like I explained to you before, I'm a people worshipper. I think people should worship people. I really do. I went out looking for God the other day and I – I couldn't pin him. So, I figured that if I couldn't find him I'd look for his stash. His great lake of love that holds the whole world in gear. And when I finally found it I had the great pleasure of finding that people were the gardines of it. Dig that. So, with my two times two is four I figure that if people were guarding the stash of love known as God then when people swing in beauty they become little gods and goddesses. And I know a couple of them myself personally. I know you do too. I think people should worship people. I like to worship something I can see; something I can get my hands on; get my brains on. I don't know about that Jehovah cat, I can't reach him. I don't know, I'm - seem like every time I find myself in a bind I always - nothing mystic came to help me, some man or some woman stepped up there and said, "We'll help you, we'll do this, we'll do that." That's the way it looks to me, so - but, recently on the San Berdoo freeway I got hung up in an old junker car going to Las Vegas, Nevada. Right in the middle of the freeway during the rush hour it conked out. Cars: vrrpt-vrrpt, vrrpt-vrrpt, hup! got a weak clutch - hup! what are doing - don't let him - don't step out. Oh, it was a mad house. Like having lunch in the middle of the Indianapolis freeway. About three days went by and finally along came God. There were two of them: there was a big God and a little God. They didn't know me from a - froma. But they pushed and they pulled and they tugged and they twisted and they yanked and they, they gave me every possible assistance in the world. And finally got me on my way. I ˜ haven't seen them since. But, I – I think that people - I hope I haven't offended your religious beliefs but I - I think that people should worship people, I really do. I really do.

I'd like to put a little sound down on Boothby, Lord Boothby, who's a eminent British philosopher and humorist. He came up with a great, strong line. He said that humor is the only solvent of terror and tension. Another great humorist came along, Thurber, and he said that we in America must realize that humor is one of our strongest allies. And I say is it the duty of the humor of any given nation, in time of high crisis, to attack the catastrophe that faces it in such a manner as to cause the people to laugh at it in such a way that they do not die before they get killed.

So, I figure I'm going to take a billion dollars next month and I'm going to start a big, swinging program, over the television, over the radio, in the newspapers, get all the funny papers, all the people that have anything to do with humor, and I'm going to start out a big elongated, eight month campaign against the gasser of all time: The Bomb. A great - a great spear- by of humor against The Bomb. A rippity tip zip zip and a ring ding ding against The Bomb. All kinds, all ways, all slides, all sides against The Bomb. A great big, elongated program, through the air, by billboards, by little ones, by big ones, until eventually you mention H-bomb to somebody and,

“H-bomb! ha, ha, ha - I heard a song about an H-Bomb the other day - there was a couple of H-bombs, ha! Missile, ha, ha, ha, Whistle your thistle, here comes the missile!”

And you hear songs like:

Way down deep in the Ural Mountains
Far behind the Iron Curtain
Ivan and the lads are flirting
With Uranium, Uranium!
It's not Geranium
I'm hip that you know
But will you lose your aplomb
When the Atomic bomb
Comes your way?
Boboljee red red red
Do you think you'll be gassed
When you hear that big blast
On the highway?
Pom pom aram bom
And everything goes up
Hooooooo vrrrpppt, Boom!
And then comes down
And Fifty-Second Street just can't be found
and Symphony Mother Sid is history.

Now the next scene is the Kremlin. Krushchev has just returned from a very big visit, shaking everyone up, rattling the rockets and one thing and another. And they give him a big party in the Kremlin and what with Russian Benzedrine and vodka and one thing and another he's smashed out. He's in the silk, sacked out with a concrete wig. He’s in bad shape. And Moly comes in, he says,


He says, "Not now, Moly, some other time, please not now, I'm a very sick man, I cannot talk now."

He said, "But, Moly, something terrible has happened."

"What, what, what, what, terrible, could happen, what could happen? What terrible?!"

He said, "But, the Americans!"

Said, "The Americans what?"

He said, "The Americans are in the street, laughing at The Bomb."

He said, "What? This is terrible news. If we cannot scare them to death we cannot beat them. Give me a double shot of vodka right away. We give back Poland, see what happens. Yeah!”