I am so fucking rock
I am so Goddamn rock
I am so motherfucking rock
I am so fucking rock
I am so Goddamn rock
I am so motherfucking rock
I am so fucking rock
I am so Goddamn rock
I am so motherfucking rock
I am so fucking rock I am so goddamn rock I am so motherfucking rock
Don't you know you wanna rock it with me
If you came expecting a burlesque show
With girls in nipple tassels and a flying trapeze
I'm sorry but I'm going to have to disappoint you
You should have read your program more carefully
If you came expecting liturgical dancing
With new interpretations of the story of Moses
I'm sorry but I'm think you will be disappointed
You've made an error during the booking process
But if you came to see ...
me!
I'm really happy that you achieved your intentions
Cos it's all very well to live in the moment
But planning is important is you want to achieve your goals
And maybe have some savings when you're old!
I am so fucking rock I am so goddamn rock I am so motherfucking rock
I worked very hard for my rock 'n' roll hair
I get it chemically straightened and I style it for hours
And I worked very hard for a rock 'n' roll face
I've got the kooky contact lenses and the girly mascara
But there is something deeper inside
Something that this mask I wear won't hide
I paid lots of money for this big piano
And the fancy, fancy lights to make me look like Michael Jackson
I paid lots of money for this bohemian coat
And the fact I don’t wear shoes is just an affectation
But there is something deeper inside
Something that this costume cannot hide
Something from a distance you won’t see
Something fundamentally me!
I am so ... rock I am so goddamn rock I'm mother- fuck-
Hear me rocking on the piano, sing, go!
The guitar!
Fucking-
I am so fucking rock I am so goddamn rock
I am so motherfucking rock.
Don’t you know you wanna Rock it with me
Rock it with me!
Whoo!
All the ladies in the house, come on and let me hear you say "Hey-oh!"
Hey-oh!
-Look at you.
- You rocked it. - Yeah, fucking rock!
All the fellas in the house, come on and let me hear you say
Whooo!
All the ladies in the house,
come on and let me hear you say:
"I'm not good with maps.
But I have a highly developed emotional intelligence!"
-I have emotional intelligen-
Oh, I'm sorry.
Um-
All the f-
This is a love song.
Your love for me is not debatable
Your sexual appetite's insatiable
You never ever make me waitable
Delectable, inflatable you.
You don't have problems with your weight at all
You never steal food off my plate at all
I never have to masturbate at all
Unstoppable, inflatable you.
You never seem to menstruate at all
So you're not angry when I'm late at all
I feel permanently felatable
Unpoppable, inflatable you.
With you in my arms I feel we could just fly away
With the right kind of gas I might even try it some day
In this ocean of life I'm never afraid we might drown
We could just float forever whatever the weather
Whenever my inflatable lover's around.
Your thighs and buttocks are so holdable
You always do just what you are toldable
And if we argue you just foldable
Controllable consolable you.
My mates all reckon you are suitable
I took you ‘round to watch the footable
And Steve and Gary said you're rootable
Refutable, commutable you.
You're never sensitive or tickley
When I rub you my skin goes prickerly
It's know an static electricity
Felicity when I'm kissing you.
Your skin is so smooth, I couldn't afford you with hair
You have all the holes real girls have got plus one for the air
Your problems are simple, I don't need my Masters in Psych
To know if you get down I just perk you right up
With a couple of squirts from the pump off my bike.
You never wake up when I snore at all
A trait which I find quite adorable
You have a box and you are storable
Ignorable, back-doorable you.
Any sexual position's feasible
Although you don't bend at the knees at all
Your hooters are so firm and squeezable
Increasable, un-creasable you.
You don't complain about my hairy back
Or 'bout the inches that downstairs I lack
You're not disgusted by my furry crack
Burt Bacharach
Jack Kerouac
Ooo.
Now birth control is not an issue
No! I clean it all off with a t-
I bet my jealous friend all wish you
Were insatiably inflatably theirs.
Yeah! Piano solo, me.
Don’t let me down.
And I won’t let you
down.
Uh, hello.
Hello!
Hiiaah!
What's your name?
How are you all doing?
Good!
And you?
Oh, thank you, fu-
What a relief!
I thought, for a second there, you hadn't elected a leader.
And it was complete anarchy.
I'm fine, thank you. What's your name, leader?
Abbie.
Abbie?
Like a little church.
Generous like a church.
Thanks for asking.
Um, I'm fine, good!
Uh, I'm Tim, for those of you who just, sort of
popped down, taking a punt on a small newspaper there, or something.
I'll just give you a bit of background, I'm a-
a person. I ...
Uh, grew- I grew up- Born and bred in Perth, West Australia.
Thank you, I-
I did next to nothing to earn that priviledge. But, uh. Um ... Thanks anyway.
I now live in, um, London, in the United Kingdom.
Which is, uh, great! Perth has- Are you guys from Perth?
Yes.
Yeah, oh right. Well, as you know, it's quite a quiet place, those of you who have visited.
It's quite a small place. London's very busy.
It's got a real sense of excitement.
I mean, I love Perth. But London's got this sort of sense of urban danger, which is very seductive.
You know, where I live, in the North, right,
for example, an ambulance seems to go past my house with its sirens blaring like once every three minute.
That seems to be a statistically improbable number of North Londoners requiring urgent medical attention.
At any given time, and
you can't help but feel excited because, odds are ...
You can't help but feel that one of these days, one of these ambulances is gonna come for you.
And it's different over here.
Even the ambulan- I mean, the ambulances, for example, every time they go past my house,
I notice they have, their writing's green, for one. That's weird.
And it says on the side, in big letters: "EMERGENCY AMBULANCE".
Which is, like- Surely the adjective is kind of implied by the noun.
But then, I figure it's just to distinguish them from our
ones over here.
They're just normal ambulances, you know?
They're a bit more laid-back.
They don't really emerge.
They just kinda ambulate.
Hang out in parks.
Like massively over-equipped Mr. Whippy vans.
Everything's more complicated: the taxis! You know, in Australia, they just have taxis.
You just ring one, you get in and you go somewhere. They've got different types of taxis.
The main one, of course, the famous black cab, you know, the English cab.
And they're, you know, proper, and they've got proper English cabbies.
And then they've got this whole other set of taxis called mini-cabs.
You guys heard of mini-cabs? Been to London a bit?
They just look like normal cars, but they have a special sticker,
and the driver has a special license, and he's allowed to act as a taxi.
Then there's this whole other group of public transport.
Vehicles that I hadn't heard about when I moved there.
And they're called "illegal mini-cabs".
And they're just dudes in cars.
And they're only cab drivers in the same sense that my mate Pete is a pharmacist.
And as the name suggests, they are illegal!
They're a bit of a, this sort of scary thing in London. I'd never heard of them,
but when I first got there, i was staying, um, near, uh, Old Street Station,
which is on the northern- those Londoners, you know Old Street. I was staying on New North Road, just near Old Street.
And I was walking down New North Rd, when I first got there uh, towards Old Street,
and I came across a bus stop, with a bus stop advertisment.
You know, so it's six foot high, and it said:
"If you wanna know how much an illegal mini-cab could cost you,
You seen these?
ask a rape victim."
That's so- that- I felt shocked!
I was like "Look, I get the point you're trying to get across, I mean it's very important, but
in the middle of the street! A child could read-" I was- I just thought, that's not necessary, that sort of thing.
But I sure learnt my lesson.
Because a couple of nights later,
after I saw this sign, I was in Soho, having a drink with some friends,
I went to the bar, and I met a girl, you know,
just "What are you getting?", that sort of meeting.
And I got talking to this girl, she was a really great girl, and we got chatting, and
we talked all night, be we got pretty drunk, um.
And eventually it got sort of, heavy, the conversation,
and she disclosed to me that she had been, um, the victim of a sexual assault.
So I asked her
how much
an illegal mini-cab would cost,
from Soho to New North Rd, near Old St, where I was staying.
And I'll never forget what she said. She said:
"About £8.50."
I mean, it was closer to 9, but I'm surprised this system works at all.
But apart from the, sort of, ambulances, and the dangerous public transport,
London, ah, is great. It's definitely the place for me, because, to be honest, um,
I'm trying to, I'm trying to get famous.
And, uh, you know, celebrities belong in London, I think.
It's a great place for them to bring up the kids they've bought.
Off poor people who live in less great places.
And I'm not doing great, but I have met some famous people.
I've gotta tell you about this gig, cause it was really exciting.
I did a charity gig, and I had to go on stage after Mariah Carey!
I kinda went straight after her, and played 'Inflatable You'.
It wasn't deliberate, but it sure resonated with a poignancy that it hadn't before.
I was standing- I was really nervous, as you can imagine,
I was standing backstage, watching this woman, this- one of the greatest
pop voices of all time, just tearing it to shreds on stage,in this tiny little dress, going-
And I was just thinking, well, how can I go on after that? You know? That's amazing!
And this dude is backstage, dude came up to me and said, uh,
"She's lip-syncing."
Oh, I thought "What a jip!", you know?
Suddenly, the magic
that is Mariah Carey kinda disappeared. You know, it's,
it felt like I was watching a sort of cheap drag show.
But without the intrigue of transvesticism.
To my knowledge.
And also I thought: "Sure, Mariah, you're a professional, you have your reasons.
Lip-sync if you want to. But if you're gonna lip-sync,
why would you do a Mariah Carey song?"
This is a song about the music industry,
trying to get famous, and having no depth.
He doesn't have a problem with drugs, He just doesn't do them,
He's fine that his mates have tattoos, But he reckons they'll rue them,
He likes going to pubs, But he hates it when the music's too loud,
He tends not to go to rock concerts, 'Cause he can't stand the crowds,
But all he's ever wanted to be Is a rock star on RAGE or MTV,
But he knows that it's not fucking likely, He just turned thirty, he knows that he
Will always be A rock'n'roll nerd,
He'll keep writing songs the world will never hear,
And though they won't be heard He'll just keep writing,
oh yeah
But you see the problem is
He always dreamt of being a star,
But he learnt piano instead of guitar,
Which in the nineties didn't get you very far,
So while the other kids were learning Stairway
He was the piano to their forte,
But he was convinced one day He'd rock their fucking arses,
And be an icon for the disenfranchised masses,
Grow his hair long and rebel against the state,
But just for now that'd have to wait,
'Cause he's running late for his morning classes.
And he will always be A rock'n'roll nerd,
He'll keep playing gigs that no-one knows about,
And though it sounds absurd He'll just keep playing,
oh yeah,
But you see the problem is
There's not much depth in what he's singing,
He's a victim of his upper-middle class upbringing,
So he can't write about the 'hood, or bling-bling,
So he sits and imagines his girlfriend is dead
To try and evoke some angst in his middle class head,
But the bitch is always fine at half past nine when they go to bed,
He's not spent a single night in prison,
He has no issues with nutrition,
He has no drinking problem and no drug addiction
Unless you count the drugs they put in chicken,
Marijuana always tends to make him cough,
He doesn't look good with his t-shirt off,
And when he tries to act tough, you can tell he's tricking.
While his mates go out out late, Popping pills and havin fun,
He goes home and showers, And gets a good eight hours,
He gets his thrills from his morning run,
While his mates all go on dates, Taking speed and drinking cans of Gin-Beam,
He stays home and cooks, And curls up with a book,
With the girl he's had since he was seventeen
'Cause he's never really been part of the scene,
While the other kids liked Gunners he liked Queen,
He's more into Beatles that the Stones, He's more Stevie Wonder than Ramones,
He never owned a panel van, He never shot a Pantera fan,
He doesn't know the difference between metal and thrash,
He couldn't tell you nothing about Axl and Slash,
He likes Ben Folds and The Jackson Five, He knows all the words to Stayin' Alive,
And though he wants to be all grungy and cool
He spent eleven years in a private school,
So it doesn't matter how hard he tries, He cannot hide behind his rock'n'roll lies,
'Cause you've either got it or you don't, Yeah, you'll either rock it or you won't,
You've either got it or you don't,
Yeah, you'll either rock it or you wont.
He knows that his music lacks depth But it just can't be helped,
He has nothing interesting to say So he writes about
himself,
But he doesn't want to seem self-obsessed
So he writes in third person,
In an attempt to seem more rock'n'roll But he suspects it's not working,
And deep in his heart he knows he Will never be Bono or Bowie
And even if he was quite pretty In small pants like Kylie
He knows that he ...
Will always be
A rock'n'roll nerd,
He'll keep writing songs the world don't care about,
And though it sounds absurd He'll just keep writing
oh yeah, yeah, yeah,
You can criticise him but he won't care,
'Cause he wants to rock, and he will never be deterred,
But he'll always be a fucked-up little tryhard wannabe rock'n'roll nerd.
A rock'n'roll nerd.
Ow!
So, I- I- Thanks, thanks, uh ...
I have a problem with stockbrokers.
Um, it's not- Is there any stockbrokers in the audience?
I don't wanna upset anyone, it's not- I don't have a problem with the job you're doing. I'm not even, um-
I'm not even entirely sure what it is.
Um. My problem is a gramatical issue.
Because 'broke' is the past tense of 'break'.
So, strictly, I don't think you can have a broker.
Like-
I don't call myself a sanger.
This is a song about, um, the conversation I had with a stockbroker, in a pub once.
It's actually a beat-poem.
Cool, huh?
It's called, uh, 'Mitsubishi Colt'.
He looks at me - intensely
Eyes sparkle, Contact lens green with artifical envy
Cocks his head and fixes me with a condescending stare
Flicks his bleached, blond tipped hair And theorises thus:
You know what I reckon?
Pause for effect
Adjusts his tackle as if it’s semi-erect
I figure I’d better give him what I know he expects
What do you reckon?
A hand on the shoulder An avuncular wink
Sips his lemon drink Spits out the pips
Hands on hips Licks his lips
Like a wolf near a flock Yet again adjusting this fantasy cock
He delivers his philosophy
I reckon it don’t matter It don’t mean squat
What you earn or what you got Or the style of your hair
Or what you wear It matters not
Like what do you care That I live on a hill with views of the beach
That my chicks and my dogs have an en-suite bathroom each
That I’ve already reached my first 10 million and I’m only 36
You’re as thick as two bricks If you think you can fix
What is broke in your life with money And the funny thing is
And I shit you not I would give it all up like that
He leaves me to ponder his wisdom for a bit And with a click of his fingers
He beckons the blondest, bimbo-est barmaid And grinning ridiculously
Orders a G and T And a beer, for me
And before I can escape He’s back saying
Cos mate, the thing is All of that crap
It’s all superficial It’s all just a front
Imean, anyone can be a rich cunt But the thing we all want
Can’t be bought with dosh You know what I mean boss?
Cos it's not like you give a toss That when I want to get slim
I’ve got my own private gym And a personal trainer called
Danielle or
fucking Darlene
She’s got tits Like those chicks
In Playboy magazine
And it’s not like you care That I own the controlling share
Of an overseas company That builds accounting software
It matters not one bit I mean who gives a shit
If I earn six hundred grand And drive a brand new land rover
You know I would hand it all over like that
He pauses for a beat Long enough for me to retreat to a seat
And sit, elbow on the bar And contemplate this guru
With his white teeth and big car
And ponder silently my belief That genius comes in many forms
And that this
postulating, peroxided porn-star prick
ain’t one of them
My specultaion cut short As he reforms
Like Terminator II
And before I have time to abort He descends upon me and snorts
I guess what I’m trying to say In my own little way
Is that I reckon that musos and artists and that Well I reckon they’re great
I know some people reckon you guys just sit on your bums
And don’t get out of bed til the pizza man comes
And smoke cones And take crack
And wack-off all day But I don’t care what they say
And I don’t listen to people Who say that all actors are gay
Not that I don’t think that’s OK
As far as I’m concerned Although it’s not my bag
If you wanna be a fag Be a fag y’know?
Who am I to say Where you come and where you go
In the privacy of your own homo
Ha ha
Homo
Ha ha
Homo
Ha ha
He’s shitting me now
And my eyes start to glaze And through the haze of my anger
I notice his G and T is gone And he’s starting to dribble
As he dribbles on and fucking on
But you musos are alright I don’t know much about music but I know what I like
And I reckon I’d give it all in To be like you Jim, *Tim*
I mean you might be poor in monetary terms But what you earn spiritually
What makes you what you are Just means so much more
Than what you get from a really nice car
Or a tennis court
Or holidays in Greece
Or a house on the beach Or stock market shares
Or thirty-one pairs Of Calvin Klein underwear
Do you understand? You are a wealthy, wealthy man
And mate, I don’t want to piss in your pocket But i’ve gotta say
Before I get on my way That honestly
And I’m not having you on
I reckon on day you could play piano as good as Elton John!
The cops are still mingling Though the crowd’s shuffled out
I’ve got ice on my hand Where my fist met his mouth
And although I explained That it wasn’t my fault
I’ve a 800 buck fine For aggravated assault
So before it gets worse I reckon I’ll bolt
A wealthy, wealthy man
In a 1981
Mitsubishi
Colt
Is everyone relaxed?
- Yeah! - So! Um.
I've been, um-
I've been, uh- Uh ...
I've got this little personal confession. I've been, um-
I've been going to see a psychologist, recently.
No.
I know,well peo- I know, I know, that's weird. Because, obviously, on stage I look like ...
totally well-adjusted, and ...
So it comes as a surprise. But I've been, um...
just been to this psy- And it's not a big deal.
It's just talking about stuff, the little things that I think I, you know, could probably just [?].
And one of the issues I have is, um, with anger.
Um.
So, I don't get ...
I don't get angry.
Um, so the issue is not really an anger issue, it's that
I don't know how to express anger. Which is nice! I'm basi-
It's nice to be diplomatic and stuff, but I- It comes from a fear of confrontation, I think.
So, um... So ...
I've been talking to this-
Cos I worry about what's happening to all that anger that, like- Anger that I'm not expressing, you know?
So, anyway, he reckons what I should do is write my feelings down.
Thereby expressing myself without having to confront anyone.
So that I don't ***, you know, um, bottle it up.
And, um. So I've been doing that, I've been doing some writing. And I've written a poem.
Which is really helpful to write.
I think it might be even more helpful to sort of do in front of a sympathetic,
non-judgmental, kind and neutral crowd like you guys.
So, this is, um, this is my poem.
It's called, uh, I've given it a title. It's called
'Angry'.
Or, in brackets : '(Feet)'.
Bit nervous 'cause of you guys. It's like a bit more personal and everything.
Sometimes I get a bit angry
But you couldn't tell, no you couldn't tell Unless you looked real closely
Sometimes I get a bit angry
But it's alright, yes it's alright Cause I keep it out of sight
Inside, deep inside
I breast fed 'til I was nine
Which my QUACK...
doctor says is fine
And he also says I'd deal with anger better If I wrote about myself in a poem or a letter
My mother was a FUCKING BITCH...
caring lady
She taught me all I know
Although I was a little slow, she never gave up
She never let me Slut
down
Although she spent a lot of time at the neighbour's house When my dad was out of town
I didn't walk 'til I was seven,
or talk 'til I was ten
But neither did Napoleon, according to my QUACK
fucking doctor
Who has certificates in frames To substantiate his Dodgy Fucking...
claims
My father left my mother for the love of a PANTANG...
nother
And I have a Bastard brother who I've never really known
Because me dad moved up to Sidney And he doesn't have a Bullshit You Fat Cunt...
telephone
In primary school I had trouble making ASHTRAYS...
friends
An issue which has become somewhat of a trend
The origin of which I can not pretend does not perplex me
Although my Quack Fucking doctor says it's cool
And that loads of "Fat Prick!" "SHUT UP I'm NOT FAT"
...kids at school
Have problems with communication
And that of course some medication would be wise
And combined with more honest self expression
Could help me with my issues with emotional repression
And at 200 bucks a session
I think I'll take the Theiving Wank BASTARD Fucking chap's advice
So.
I quite like Porn... photography
And books on GUNS... history
And I'd like to be a
And I'd like to be a POLITICIAN...
vet
And I feel as I get older I'm more in control of my violent tendencies
And when I die KILL...
die, I'll have no regrets
And I feel that all this writing Is really Poofy exciting
And my Quack Fucking doctor would be proud Because I feel a lot less angry
And I'm saying stuff out loud And I'm letting anger out
Like today in our last session When I taught the Quack a lesson
'Cause he said I'm not progressing Said I wasn't moving forward
So I said, "Let's see how you move without your fucking legs."
And I tied him to his chair And I pulled out my machete
And I listened to him beg And then I cut his fucking feet off
And while he laid there bleeding I used his feet
to kick him in the head.
Thank you GIGGLING CUNTS very much.
I hope, I hope that was, um ...
That helped, that was really helpful.
So. ("Feel better?") Yeah, I feel a lot better, yes. Thank you, thank you.
Um. Abbie?
Another man just asked a question.
Are you a leader, or what?
It's funny actually. I sometimes ...
There's a bit of ... language in that, um ...
in that, uh, piece.
And I got a letter recently, from a woman, when I was performing in Perth
saying that she didn't see why I had to use such a crass language.
And I wrote back, sort of explaining that
language changes, you know? The whole vernacular is different, in a more-
Standards change, and- and-
And that these words are in common usage, now. And I started this- um...
It's a true story: I saw on the front page of the Australian newspaper, um, the word 'fuck'!
Right on the front page of the paper. I mean, things are
changing. And all they had to do to get away with that was spell it 'f**k'.
Really weird that a little star could be enough to...
slew that fickle outrage, you know?
And, anyway, because the 'f**k' is so commonly used these days,
it actually, these days, means 'fuck'.
More than 'fuck' means 'fuck'.
It's almost a couter-productive disguise.
It's like a ... Like a
paedophile
wearing brown tinted aviator glasses when he goes to the pool.
If anything, it makes him more like a paedophile.
Strangely,
-and I also pointed this out in my letter, um-
the protection afforded the word 'fuck' by the humble asterisk
does not necessarily applies to all words.
Even seemingly inucuous, perfeclty harmless words, like-
Any word, like- Take the word finger, for example.
Perfectly harmless word. But when you use it in a sentence such as:
Um.
'I want to finger your mom.'
It could be construed by some senses as deemed offensive.
Now you have to say that the offensive word in that sentence
is the word 'finger', used in this case
as a verb. Or a 'doing-word'.
But you would not get that sentence on the front page of the Australian newspaper
by spelling it 'f**ger'.
And that's because it's the context in which the word is used
that makes it offensive.
In which case, you might be better off spelling the sentence 'I wanna your m*m."
I guess the reason I've brought that up, um-
I guess what I'm saying is, if anyone has been offended,
so far, by any, anything,
if you're the sort of person that finds any of that sort of stuff objectionable,
um,
or, for that matter, if you're quite a religiou- If you're a religious person,
You might wanna pop out for about 5 minutes ...
This is a song about ...
anal sex and God.
It's called 'Ten-Foot Cock, and a Few Hundred Virgins'.
So you're gonna live in Paradise,
With a ten-foot cock and a few hundred virgins.
So you're gonna live in Paradise, With a ten-foot cock and a few hundred virgins,
So you're gonna sacrifice your life For a ride on a UFO,
And when the Lord comes down in his shimmering chariot of salvation,
You're gonna be the first to know.
And so if...
God was there from the very beginning He invented men and women,
Then He also invented wanking, Then He said wanking was sinning.
So if I'm feeling randy I'm not allowed to hand-shandy,
But having sex with my family, That is just fucking great.
It's all there in Ezekial 8,
Just before He opens up His big pearly gate,
And says that it's a sin To take it up the date,
Even if it's great, Even with your cow-boy mate.
So you're gonna live in Paradise, With a ten-foot cock and few hundred virgins,
So you're gonna sacrifice your life For a shot at the greener grass,
And when the Lord comes down With his shiny rod of judgement,
He's gonna kick my heathen arse.
So if you...
Cover the bodies of your women Everybody is grinning,
Because black is so slimming, Though it's not great for swimming.
But it gives you an erection, With the increased sexual tension,
What with the U.V. protection That is second to none.
You'll find it all in the Quran
Just next to the bit that justifies guns,
And says that it's a sin To take it up the bum,
Even if it's fun, Even with permission from your mum.
So you're gonna live in Paradise With a ten-foot cock and a few hundred virgins,
So you're gonna sacrifice your life For a shot at eternity,
And when the Lord comes down And I haven't done my penance,
He's gonna disembowel me.
You say that...
If I...
Stumbled on a watch I'd assume it had a watchmaker,
That a muffin presupposes a baker, So you must agree sooner or later,
That this proves there's a creator.
So if I put my foot in a stinker, You'd assume the existence of a sphincter
Thus you don't need to be a great thinker To coclude that God's a bum,
Which negates the words of Genesis 1
Which made Him out to be so much fun,
Until Adam succumbed To temptation,
And then His only son Got nailed to a gum,
Or the Middle-Eastern equivalent, Which suggests that God's omniscience
Is nullified by His ambivilance, Unless it turns out that He's impotent,
And if God can't get a boner, I guess that explains the plethora
Of huge erections in His honour -
Because we all know a steeple's just a subconscious compensatory manifestation of a huge stiff penis -
Still He tells us that it's heinous To stick a penis up your anus
Even if you're famous, Even if you're good at tennis.
So you're gonna live in Paradise With a ten-foot cock and a few hundred virgins,
So you're gonna sacrifice your life For a ride on a UFO,
And when the Lord comes down with his big, stiff, slippery rod of judgment,
I'm gonna be the first to go,
He's gonna send me down below,
He's gonna whip me like a hoe, Do you really think so?
I'm gonna be the first to go.
Thank you, thanks. Thank you.
So, um. Thank, thank you. So, sometimes, uh ...
Sometimes, 'cause material like that doesn't necessarily respect
entirely some of the, um, idiosyncracies of a couple of major monotheistic doctines, um,
people make the assumption -upon listening to such material- that I'm not religious myself.
Which is,uh ...
pretty spot-on.
But,
it's sort of beside the point. I don't wanna be divisive.
You know? And, besides, I think
I think you can be spiritual. I think you can have a big sense of spirituality without
actually adhering to any of the major religions, um ...
As it turns out, I'm...
not at all spiritual. Uh ...
I've just got this real sense of ...
emptiness.
But I believe in things, you know? I believe in ...
uh, rocks.
And, um...
gravity, and uh- And I have, like a relativist morality.
Which I can manipulate to suit my world-view.
So that I can justify group-sex.
For example, while [?] group-prayer.
Works for me.
But you have to admit, really
ironically, I guess, given all the religious violence in the world,
one of the things that actually binds us all, that we all have in common, across all cultures,
and indeed all time, since the beginning of recorded thought,
is this tendency to invoke the supernatural
to help us explain those things in our lives which we find difficult to explain
using only the evidence at hand, you know?
A modern example of this: I saw on telly recently
a show about, um, it was called, uh ...
I think it was 'Miracles in the Womb'.
Or, or 'Extreme Wombs', or ...
Something, 'Changing Wombs'!
It wasn't that.
And, anyway, it was about multiple births.
And a women had given birth to naturally-conceived, identical quadruplet girls,
which is very rare. And she said:
'The doctors told me there was a one in 64 millions chance that this could happen.
It's a miracle!'
But, of course, as we know, it's not. Because things that have a one in 64 millions chance of happening,
happen
all the time.
To presume that your 'one in 64 millions chance' thing is a miracle
is to significantly
underestimate
the total number of
things
that there are.
Maths.
It's interesting, actually, now that I live overseas,
it struck me anew, when I came back to Australia this time, that
here, we seem- This compulsion towards the supernatural and mystical,
seems to manifest itself, mostly, in Australia
in the presence of bumper stickers.
You know the ones I'm talking about? They're usually purple,
and they generally imply the existence of a benevolent spirit of some sort,
looking after us all, especially the people who
bothered to put the sticker on their bumper.
They say things like 'The goddess is dancing', and, uh ...
My favorite probably is 'Don't drive faster than your angel can fly'.
As if, of all the possible restrictions an angel might face,
speed is the-
Unless that is proposing the possibility of the existence of unfit angels.
And probably the one that annoys me most, because it's most common, I think, is
- I'm sure you've all seen it- 'Magic happens'.
'Magic happens'? They usually sparkle.
I just- I just- I don't know what it is about 'Magic happens' stickers on cars,
but everytime I see one, I wanna get my permanent marker and
sort of sneak over and write underneath it 'So does
cock death.'
Under which a spiritual person, with a slightly more ephemeral marker
might choose to write something like, um ...
'Yeah, but
sometimes, the magician has to do bad magic
in order to
a) test our faith
our b) for the purpose of a greater good.'
Under which someone like me, with their permanent marker
might choose to write something along the lines of
'Fuck off'.
Thus ending an otherwise perfectly sensible bumper-based philosophical argument.
I have a particular religious friend I go head-to-head with, and get very boring at dinner parties with
on these sort of big questions, and, uh ...
He always seems to think that to be skeptical is to be cynical.
And that my view of the world sees no beauty.
Which, I always argue, is not the case, I mean- I find the world a really exciting place.
There are ideas that are a bit more science-y
that are just as exciting as the kind of magic he wants, you know?
Like- One of the greatest ideas of all time: evolution! The theory of natural selection, you know?
Not only is it, um...
um ...
How do you say?
right.
I'm just practicing my timing for my American tour.
Pause, 'right', and duck!
Duck.
Well, I mean, not only is it good science, bu it's also really
thrilling, don't you think, this idea that an individual of a species can be born
sort of mutated
in a good way!
And in the moment of that individual's birth that holds within its genetic code
the potential for its entire species to take a huge evolutionaty leap forward.
It's amazing! And I always think, what would life have been like
being one of those individual
mutant freaks?
You know, what did the other kids think?
Imagine being the first dude ever to have feet.
I reckon that would be really tough.
And also what I wonder is, how do these individual with their new bits, like,
how do they figure out how to use them?
Do they just stumble upon their potential purpose one day, just accidently, you know?
Imagine you're a fish.
And you're just swimming in the ocean
with your school, and you're just hangin out, swimming, same as always,
'cause you're
um, fish.
And suddenly, out of nowhere,
Tony
Fucking Tony
Tony just goes ...
Uh...
I'm getting out.
Yeah, I'm, uh
freezing.
You're a fish, Tony.
Yeah, well I'm a cold fish. I just wanna pop out for a bit, you know? Maybe lie on my towel.
I'll bring you an ice-cream. - Yeah, don't bother, Tony, you're a freak.
Come on, school, let's go. Let's otracize him for being different.
Yeah, let's ostracize him, Tony's a freak. Let's ostracize him for being different.
No, don't ostracize me. I'm just a little bit different.
Oh, bugger you, then!
I'll show you guys!
Fuck me!
Those are gonna come in handy!
And imagine what Tony would think
standing there on his brand new feet,
on the brink of the beginnings of mankind as we know it, it-
If he could look forward,
just a few short
hundreds of millions of years, to see one of his descendants,
an Israeli jew by the name of Jesus,
having a nail hammerd through his feet,
-the very feet that Tony provided him with-
as a punishment for having a sort of schizophrenic discourse with a god,
who was created by men
to explain the existence of feet in the absence of the knowledge of the existence of Tony.
I think that would
blow his little fishy mind.
This religious friend of mine-
Arguments often end with him telling me that I'm not really open-minded.
And, because he's my friend and I respect him, I've written him a song.
It's called 'If You Open Your Mind Too Much,
Your Brain Will Fall Out'.
Which I think is brilliant. That is so, so clever.
Unfortunatly, I didn't come up with it myself, I read that in a book.
So, to avoid copyright issues, I've given it a subtitle,
uh, which is
'Take My Wife!'
If anyone can show me one example in the history of the world
Of a single psychic who has been able to prove
under reasonable experimental conditions that they are able to read minds
And if anyone can show me one example in the history of the world of a single
Astrologer who has been able to prove under reasonable experimental conditions
that they can predict future human events by interpreting celestial signs
And if anyone can show me one example in the history of the world of a single
Homeopathic Practitioner who has been able to prove under reasonable experimental conditions
that solutions made up of infinitely tiny particles of good stuff
dissolved repeatedly into relatively huge quantities of water
have a consistently higher medicinal value than a similarly administered
placebo
And if anyone can show me just one example in the history of the world of a single
Spiritual person who has been able to show either logically or empirically
the existence of a higher power with any consciousness or interest in the human race
or ability to punish or reward humans for there moral choices
or that there is any reason - other than fear - to believe in any version of an afterlife
I will give you my piano,
one of my legs,
and my wife.
I think that's important.
I think that's important that, even if, you know,
one's job -as it is in my case- is to entertain, uh,
It's such an honour to have an audience like you, watching me for hours and hours on end.
I think sometimes that I should respect that honour, by-
by trying to do something with bit of a message in it, so it's not purely entertainment,
but there is something you guys can take away, and in some way-
Too grand, I am, but in some way of maybe
I think, contribute to the betterment of the world, you know?
So, I've got this song which adresses the environmental issue.
About which I feel very strongly, and, um,
I'd love to perform it for you now, in the hope that maybe we can
contribute to the resolution of this issue.
Hit it.
Take your canvas bags When you go
To the supermarket
Why use plastic bags when you know
You know the world can’t take it
Take your canvas bags When you go
To the supermarket, market, market
Don’t you use those plastic ones No, no, no
Don’t you know that you’ll feel better for it
Take your canvas bags
To the supermarket
Take your canvas bags
To the supermarket
Take your canvas bags
To the supermarket
Take your canvas bags
To the supermarket
Break it down!
Take your canvas, take your canvas Take your canvas bags
To the supermarket
All the ladies in the house, come on and let me hear you say 'Canvas'!
All the fellas in the house, come on and let me hear you say 'Bags'!
Take your canvas bags
To the supermarket
Just think about the world And how the world would be fantastic
If we got rid of all the plastic
We just need to get enthusiastic
Organize a competition gymnastic Or a bag making comp at your school
Fuck it, make it interscholastic
Canvas is for everyone Whether you be rebellious and iconoclastic
Or conservative or ecclesiastic
I don’t care if you’re loud and bombastic Or quiet or virtually monastic
Sober or on the floor spastic Yoga master or completely inelastic
I’m not trying to be ironic or sarcastic Just do something drastic
Take your canvas bags Take your canvas bags
... to the supermarket
Black out!
This is an interval song
Cause it's the interval.
Who does the interval song?