Joe's Garage

Sometimes when you're not looking he just sneaks up on you. He looks like a cheap sort of flying saucer about five feet across with a snout-like megaphone apparatus in the front with two big eyes mounted like Appletons with miniature motorized frowning chrome eyebrows over them. Along the side of his disc-like body are several sets of stupid-looking headers and exhaust hoses which apparently propel him and punctuate his dialogue with horrible smelling smoke rings. In the middle of his head we can see an airport wind sock and constantly twirling anemometer. The bottom of him has a landing light and three spoked wheels. In spite of all this, it is obvious that the way he really gets around is by being dangled from place to place by a union guy with a dark green shirt up in the roof who is eating a sandwich (pieces of which drop off every once in a while and lodge themselves near the hole where they put the oil in that makes the cheap smoke).

He hovers into view and speaks to us thusly...

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER...it is my responsibility to enforce all the laws that haven't been passed yet. It is also my responsibility to alert each and every one of you to the potential consequences of various ordinary everyday activities you might be performing which could eventually lead to *The Death Penalty* (or affect your parents' credit rating). Our criminal
institutions are full of little creeps like you who do wrong things...and many of them were driven to these crimes by a horrible force called MUSIC!

Our studies have shown that this horrible force is so dangerous to society at large that laws are
being drawn up at this very moment to stop it forever! Cruel and inhuman punishments are being
carefully described in tiny paragraphs so they won't conflict with the Constitution (which, itself, is
being modified in order to accommodate THE FUTURE).

I bring you now a special presentation to show what can happen to you if you choose a career in MUSIC...The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only...if you have to load or
unload, go to the WHITE ZONE... you'll love it...it's a way of life...Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha...Hi,
it's me, I'm back. This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER...The WHITE ZONE is for loading
and unloading only...If yah gotta load, or if yah gotta unload, go to the WHITE ZONE.
You'll love it...it's a way of life. That's right, you'll love it, it's a way of life, that's right, you'll
love it, it's a way of life, you'll love it. This, is, the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER!

A boring old garage in a residential area with a teen-age band rehearsing in it. JOE (the main
character in the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER'S Special Presentation) sings to us of the trials and
tribulations of garage-band husbandry.

Central Scrutinizer:
We take you now, to a garage, in Canoga Park.

Frank Zappa:
(It makes it's own sauce...)

Joe:
It wasn't very large
There was just enough room to cram the drums
In the corner over by the Dodge
It was a fifty-four
With a mashed up door
And a cheesy little amp
With a sign on the front said "Fender Champ"
And a second hand guitar
It was a Stratocaster with a whammy bar

At this point, LARRY (a guy who will eventually give up music and earn a respectable living as a
roadie for a group called Toad-O) joins in the song...

Larry:
We could jam in Joe's Garage
His mama was screamin'
His dad was mad
We was playin' the same old song
In the afternoon 'n' sometimes we would
Play it all night long
It was all we knew, 'n' easy too
So we wouldn't get it wrong
All we did was bend the string like...
Hey!
Down in Joe's Garage
We didn't have no dope or LSD
But a coupla quartsa beer
Would fix it so the intonation
Would not offend yer ear
And the same old chords goin' over 'n' over
Became a symphony
We would play it again 'n' again 'n' again
'Cause it sounded good to me
ONE MORE TIME!
We could jam in Joe's Garage
His mama was screamin',
"TURN IT DOWN!"
We was playing' the same old song
In the afternoon 'n' sometimes we would
Play it all night long
It was all we knew, and easy too
So we wouldn't get it wrong
Even if you played it on a saxophone
We thought we was pretty good
We talked about keepin' the band together
'N' we figured that we should
'Cause about this time we was gettin' the eye
From the girls in the neighborhood
They'd all come over 'n' dance around
like...

Twenty teen-age girls dash
in and go STOMP-CLAP,
STOMP-CLAP-CLAP...

So we picked out a stupid name
Had some cards printed up for a coupla bucks
'N' we was on our way to fame
Got matching suits 'N' Beatle Boots
'N' a sign on the back of the car
'N' we was ready to work in a GO-GO Bar

ONE TWO THREE FOUR
LET'S SEE IF YOU GOT SOME MORE!

People seemed to like our song
They got up 'n' danced 'n' made a lotta noise
An' it wasn't 'fore very long
A guy from a company we can't name
Said we oughta take his pen
'N' sign on the line for a real good time
But he didn't tell us when
These "good times" would be somethin'
That was really happenin'
So the band broke up
An' it looks like
We will never play again...

Joe:
Guess you only get one chance in life
To play a song that goes like...

(And, as the band plays their little song,
MRS. BORG (who keeps her son SY,
in the closet with the vacuum cleaner)
screams out the window...

Mrs. Borg:
Turn it down!
Turn it DOWN!
I have children sleeping here...
Don't you boys know any nice songs?

Joe:
(Speculating on the future)
Well the years was rollin' by, yeah
Heavy Metal 'n' Glitter Rock
Had caught the public eye, yeah
Snotty boys with lipstick on
Was really flyin' high, yeah
'N' then they got that Disco thing
'N' New Wave came along
'N' all of a sudden I thought the time
Had come for that old song
We used to play in "Joe's Garage"
And if I am not wrong
You will soon be dancin' to...

Central Scrutinizer:
The WHITE ZONE is
for loading and
unloading only. If you
gotta load or unload,
go to the WHITE
ZONE. You'll love it...

Joe:
Well the years was rollin' by (etc.)...

Mrs. Borg:
I'm calling THE POLICE!
I did it! They'll be here...shortly!

Officer Butzis:
This is the Police...

Mrs. Borg:
I'm not joking around anymore

Officer Butzis:
We have the garage surrounded
If you give yourself up
We will not harm you
Or hurt you neither

Mrs. Borg:
You'll see them

Officer Butzis:
This is the Police

Mrs. Borg:
There they are, they're coming!

Officer Butzis:
Give yourself up
We will not harm you

Mrs. Borg:
Listen to that mess, would you?

Officer Butzis:
This is the Police
Give yourself up
We have the garage surrounded

Mrs. Borg:
Everday this goes on around here!

Officer Butzis:
We will not harm you, or maim you
(SWAT Team 4, move in!)

Mrs. Borg:
He used cut my grass...
He was very nice boy...
That's DISGUSTING!!

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER...
That was Joe's first confrontation with The Law.
Naturally, we were easy on him.
One of our friendly counselors gave him
A do-nut...and told him to
Stick closer to church-oriented social activities.

A festive CYO Party with crepe paper streamers, contestants for the broom dance, the "Hokey
Pokey," baked goods, & FATHER RILEY making sure the lights don't go down too low...

Father Riley And Various Party Goers:
Catholic Girls
With a tiny little mustache
Catholic Girls
Do you know how they go?
Catholic Girls
In the Rectory Basement
Father Riley's a fairy
But it don't bother Mary
Catholic Girls
At the CYO
Catholic Girls
Do you know how they go?
Catholic Girls
There can be no replacement
How do they go, after the show?

Joe:
All the way
That's the way they go
Every day
And none of their mamas ever seem to know
Hip-Hip-Hooray
For all the class they show
There's nothing like a Catholic Girl
At the CYO
When they learn to blow...

Father Riley:
They're learning to blow
All the Catholic Boys!

Mary:
Warren Cuccurullo...

Father Riley:
Catholic Boys!

Mary:
Kinda young, kinda WOW!

Father Riley:
Catholic Boys!

Mary:
Vinnie Colaiuta...

Chorus:
Where are they now?
Did they all take The Vow?

Father Riley:
Catholic Girls

Warren:
Carmenita Scarfone!

Father Riley:
Catholic Girls

Officer Butzis:
Hey! She gave me VD!

Father Riley:
Catholic Girls!

Warren:
Toni Carbone!

Chorus:
With a tongue like a cow
She could make you go WOW!

Joe:
VD vowdy vootie
Right away
That's the way they go
Every day
Whenever their mamas take them to a show
Matinee
Pass the popcorn please
There's nothing like a Catholic Girl
With her hand in the box
When she's on her knees

Larry:
She was on her knees,
My little Catholic Girl

Chorus:
In a little white dress
Catholic Girls
They never confess
Catholic Girls
I got one for a cousin
I love how they go
So send me a dozen
Catholic Girls
OOOOOOH!
Catholic Girls
OOOOOOH!
(etc.)

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER...
Joe had a girl friend named Mary.
She used to go the church club every week.
They'd meet each other there
Hold hands
And think Pure Thoughts
But one night at the Social Club meeting
Mary didn't show up...
She was sucking cock backstage at The Armory
In order to get a pass
To see some big rock group for free...

Backstage at the local Armory, Mary, in her little white dress, is wiping the remnants of her
performance off the side of her mouth as LARRY (the guy from the garage who quit the band in
order to make an honest living) zips up the front of his stinking boiler suit and sings to the same
teen-age girls who were stomping and clapping a little while ago, as they kneel with their little pink mouths open near the crew bus, hoping to save the price of admission by performing acts of Hooverism on the jolly lads who set up the P.A. System.

Larry:
Hey Hey Hey all you girls in these
Industrial towns
I know you're prob'ly gettin' tired
Of all the local clowns
They never give you no respect
They never treat you nice
So perhaps you oughta try
A little friendly advice
And be a CREW SLUT
Hey, you'll love it
Be a CREW SLUT
It's a way of life
Be a CREW SLUT
See the world
Don't make a fuss, just get on the bus
CREW SLUT
Add water makes its own sauce
Be a CREW SLUT
So you don't forget, call before midnite tonite
The boys in the crew
Are just waiting for you
You never to get move around
You never go nowhere
I know yer prob'ly gettin' tired
Of all the guys out there
You always wondered what it's like
To go from place to place
So, darlin', take a little ride
On the mixer's face
Be a CREW SLUT
Just follow the magic footprints
Be a CREW SLUT
Hey, you'll love it!
Be a CREW SLUT
It's a way of life
I ain't gonna squash it
And you don't need to wash it!
CREW SLUT
Hey, I'll buy you a pizza
CREW SLUT
Of course I'll introduce you to Warren
The boys in the crew
Are only waiting for you

At this point, the road crew, as all road crews must from time to time, borrow some of the big
rock group's equipment and have a blues jam session, indicating to the kneeling maidens that they are endowed with a great deal of raw talent, as well as massive meat. Obviously impressed with LARRY'S ability to suck so hard on his harmonica that screeching little noises come out of it, MARY kneels again and reaches upward in gestures of supplication, listening intently as LARRY continues to sing...

Larry:
Well you been to Alabama, girl,
'N' Georgia too
'N' all the boys in the crew
Is bein' good to you
I know yer sayin' to yourself
'This is the way to go'
'Cause when you need a little extra
They will give you some mo'
`Cause you're the CREW SLUT

Mary:
Eh, hah ha, I'm into leather...

Larry:
That's good! A lot of the boys in the crew Love leather...

Mary:
And rubber...

Larry:
Yeh, they like rubber too...shrink-tubing
With a hair dryer...

Road Crew Chorus:
Trade your spot on the bench
For a guy with a wrench
And be a...

Mary:
Ha ha ha...

Larry:
You like that, huh?
I told you you'd love it...
It's a way of life!

Road Crew Chorus:
The guys in the crew
Have got a present for you!
Ren nah naaah
Ren nah naaah
Ren nah naaah

Mary:
A present for me?

Road Crew Chorus:
Ren nah naaah
Ren nah naaah
Ren nah naaah

Larry:
Hmmm, we got a present for you!

Road Crew Chorus:
Ren nah naaah
Ren nah naaah
Ren nah naaah

Mary:
Whaddya got?

Road Crew Chorus:
Ren nah naaah

Mary:
Whaddya gonna give me?

Road Crew Chorus:
Ren nah naaah
Ren nah naaah

Larry:
It looks just like a Telefunken U-47
You'll love it...

Mary:
With Leather?

Central Scrutinizer:
Eh errr, eh eh...This is,eh, the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER again...
And so Mary was enticed away from Joe
By an evil barbarian with a wrench in his pocket
Lured into a life of SLEAZERY
With the entire road crew of some
Famous Rock Group
(I don't know whether it was really Toad-O or not
...I don't know... I'll check it out)
Again we see
MUSIC
Causing
BIG TROUBLE!

After a few weeks on the bus, being porked by Toad-O's road crew, and being too exhausted to do their laundry on a regular basis, MARY is dumped in Miami. With no money (and no other famous rock groups due into the area for at least three weeks), she tries to pick up a few bucks by entering the Wet T-shirt contest at The Brasserie...

Ike:
Looks to me like something funny Is going on around here People laughin' 'n' dancin' 'n' payin'
Entirely too much for their beer And they all think they are Clean outa-site And they're ready to
party 'Cause the sign outside says it's WET T-SHIRT NITE 'N' they all crave some Hot delight
Well the girls are excited Because in a minute They're gonna get wet 'N' the boys are delighted
Because all the titties Will get 'em upset 'N' they all think they are Reety-awright 'N' they're ready to boogie 'Cause the sign outside says it's WET T-SHIRT NITE 'N' they all crave some Pink delight When the water gets on 'em Their ninnies get rigid 'N' look pretty bold It's a common reaction That makes an attraction Whenever it's cold 'N' all of the fellas They wish they could bite On the cute little nuggets The local girls are showin' off tonite You know I think it serves 'em right You know I think it serves 'em right You know I think it serves 'em right You know I think it serves 'em right And it's WET T-SHIRT TIME AGAIN I know you want someone to show you some tit! BIG ONES! WET ONES! BIG WET ONES!

At this point, FATHER RILEY (who had been recently de-frocked for not meeting his
quota, and has grown his hair out and bought a groovy sport coat and moved to Miami
and changed his name to BUDDY JONES) steps onto the crowded bandstand in his exciting
new role as a WET T-SHIRT CONTEST EMCEE...

Buddy Jones:
Ah, thanks, IKE... Yes, it's WET T-shirt TIME AGAIN Here at the Brasserie... Home of THE
TITS...huh huh... And it's the charming Mary from Canoga Park Up next in her bid for the
semi-finals... Hi, Mary...howya doin'?

Having been fucked senseless by the boys in the crew, MARY does not recognize the former
religious personage from her nights in the rectory basement during which she acquired her basic
manual skills...confounded by his sport coat, she replies...

Mary:
Hi!

Realizing that she no longer recognizes him...or even appreciates the patient religious training he
had given her in the past, BUDDY JONES, like a true WET T-SHIRT EMCEE type person,
proceeds to say various stupid things to waste time, making the contest itself take longer, thereby giving the mongoloids squatting on the dance floor an opportunity to buy more exciting
beverages...liquid products that will expand their consciousnesses to the point whereby they might more fully enjoy the ambiance of Miami By Night...

Buddy Jones:
Where ya from?

Mary:
Ah, the bus...

Buddy Jones:
Which one?

Mary:
You know...the last tour... You know...Leather

Buddy Jones:
Oh...you were the girl stuck to seat 38 Phydeaux III... why don't you get in position and take a
deep breath, because this water is very, very cold, but it's goin' to be so stimulating. And Mary's
the kind of Red- Blooded American Girl who'll do anything...

Mary:
Anything...

Buddy Jones:
I said anything...for fifty bucks That's right!

Mary:
I really need the fifty bucks you know I gotta get home!

Buddy Jones:
Yeh, I know, your father is waiting for you in the tool shed...that's right, you heard right...our big
prize tonite is fifty American Dollars to the girl with the most exciting mammalian
protuberances...

Mary:
Here I am!

Buddy Jones:
...as viewed through a thoroughly soaked, stupid looking white sort of male person's conservative kind of middle-of-the-road COTTON UNDERGARMENT! Whoopee! And here comes THE WATER!

Mary:
EEEK!

Buddy Jones:
No, you'd squeak more if the water got on you...sounds like you just got an ice pick in the
forehead...AND HERE COMES THE ICE PICK IN THE FOREHEAD ...a million laughs,
Mary! Anyway; good golly, what a mess...she's totally soaked...yeh, totally committed to the fifty bucks...That's it just step into the spotlight...let the guys get a good look at ya honey!

Mary:
Here I am!

Buddy Jones:
Whaddya say, fellas? Nice setta jugs? Now Mary, how's about shakin' it around a little...

Mary:
Ooooh!

Buddy Jones:
Oh my goodness, look at her go!

Mary:
Oooh! I'm dancing! I'm dancing!

Buddy Jones:
Ain't this what living is really all about! Here's your fifty bucks Mary...

Mary:
Oh great! Now I can go home!

Buddy Jones:
Home is where the heart is.

Mary:
On the bus.

Whereupon the house combo at the Brasserie drifts into a modified version of one of Toad-O's
big hit numbers BUDDY JONES stares longingly at the little nozzles pooching out of Mary's
moistened upper clothing, but it's too late...WARREN, one of the other guys from Joe's Garage
Band has already recognized her (he's now one of the foremost disco-fusion rhythm guitar players on the Wet T-shirt Circuit, currently providing exciting strummery here in Miami), and is in the process of getting the details of her life on the bus with LARRY and the other jolly road crew lads. He eventually sends JOE a letter with this information in it...

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER...Meanwhile, Joe hears about Mary's naughty exploits.
He falls in with a fast crowd and gets seduced by a girl who works at the Jack-In-The-Box,
named Lucille, who gives him an unpronounceable disease...

Shortly after his liaison with the taco stand lady, JOE makes a horrible discovery...

Joe:
Why does it hurt when I pee?
Why does it hurt when I pee?
I don't want no doctor
To stick no needle in me
Why does it hurt when I pee?
I got it from the toilet seat
I got it from the toilet seat
It jumped right up
'N' grabbed my meat
Got it from the toilet seat
My balls feel like a pair of maracas
My balls feel like a pair of maracas
Oh God I probably got the
Gon-o-ka-ka-khackus!
My balls feel like a pair of maracas
Ai-ee-ai-ee-ahhhh!
Why does it
Why does it
Why does it
Why does it hurt...when I
Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?

JOE is so disoriented by his disease, he goes in the other room and plays the title cut from an old Jeff Simmons album, and sings along with it.

Joe:
Lucille
Has messed my mind up
But I still love her
Oh I still love her
Lucille
Has messed my mind up
But I still love her
Oh I still love her
Lucille
Has messed my mind up
But I still need her
You know I need her
Whatcha tryna doota me
Lucille?
Whatcha tryna doota me
Lucille?
Whatcha tryna doota me
Lucille?
You got me goin' outa my mind
Lucille
Has tore my heart up
But I still love her
I really love her
Lucille
Has tore my heart up
But I still need her
You know I need her
She treats me like my heart
Is made of stone
She runs around
And leaves me home
All alone
She doesn't answer
When I call her on the phone
She messed up my mind
I'm crying alla the time
Lucille
Has messed my mind up (etc., etc., etc.)

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER...again, Hi!...It's me again, the CENTRAL
SCRUTINIZER...Joe says Lucille has messed his mind up, but, was it the girl or was it the music? As you can see...girls, music, disease, heartbreak...they all go together...Joe found out the hard way, but his troubles were just beginning...his mind was so messed up...he could hardly do nothin'...He was in a quandary...being devoured by the swirling cesspool of his own steaming
desires...the guy was a wreck...so...what does he do? For once, he does something SMART...he goes out...and pays a lot of money to L. Ron Hoover... at the First Church of Appliantology!

Can't get lyrics......

Arriving at L. Ron Hoover's modernistic office / cathedral / warehouse / condominium complex,
Joe is greeted by a pre-recorded message and a dramatically illuminated image on a wall-sized TV screen...

L. Ron Hoover:
Welcome to the First Church of Appliantology! The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only!

Don't you be Tarot-fied
It's just a token
of my extreme
Don't you be Tarot-fied
It's just a token
of my extreme

Don't you never try to
look behind my eyes
You don't wanna know
what they have seen
Don't you never try to
look behind my eyes
You don't wanna know
what they have seen

Joe: (thinking to himself)
Some people think
That if they go too far
They'll never get back
To where the rest of
them are
I might be crazy
But there's one thing
I know
You might be surprised
At what you find
when ya go!

And thus, having ration- alized his expedition to L. Ron's modernistic office / cathedral /
warehouse / condominium complex, JOE seeks The Answer to his problem...

Joe:
Oh oh oh
Mystical Advisor
What is my problem,
tell me
Can you see?

L. Ron Hoover:
Well, you have nothing
to fear, my son!
You are a Latent
Appliance Fetishist,
It appears to me!

Joe:
That all seems very,
very strange
I never craved
a toaster
Or a color T.V.

L. Ron Hoover:
A Latent Appliance
Fetishist
Is a person who
refuses to admit
to his or herself
That sexual
gratification can
only be achieved
Through the use of
MACHINES...
Get the picture?

Joe:
Are you telling me
I should come out
of the closet now
Mr. Ron?

L. Ron Hoover:
No, my son!
You must go into
THE CLOSET

Joe:
What?

L. Ron Hoover:
And you will have

Joe:
Heh?

L. Ron Hoover:
Hey!
A lot of fun!
That's where
they all live
So if you want an
Appliance to love you
You'll have to
go in there
'N' get you one

Joe:
Well...that seems
simple enough...

L. Ron Hoover:
Yes, but if you want a
really GOOD one,
You'll have to learn a
foreign language...

Joe:
German, for instance?

L. Ron Hoover:
That's right...
A lot of really cute
ones come from
over there!
(Fifty bucks, please)
And a cheerful group of
Appliantologists dance
into the room wearing
aluminum foil lab smocks,
lock arms in a circle
around JOE, making sure
he pays in full, all the
while singing with L. RON
as he delivers his final
instructions...

L. Ron Hoover:
If you been
Mod-O-fied,
It's an illusion,
an yer in between
Don't you be
Tarot-fied,
It's just a lot of nothin',
So what can it mean?

If you been
Mod-O-fied,
It's an illusion,
an yer in between
Don't you be
Tarot-fied,
It's just a lot of nothin',
So what can it mean?

If you been
Mod-O-fied,
It's an illusion,
an yer in between...

JOE leaves the First Church of Appliantology and sets out to try L. RON's expensive advice

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Joe has just learned to speak German Now, get this,
here's why he did it! He's gonna go to this club on the other side of town, it's called THE
CLOSET... And they got these Appliances in there that really go for a guy dressed up like a
housewife who can speak German (you know what I mean)... so Joe's learned how to speak
German, he goes into this place and he sees these little Kitchen Machineries dancing around with each other, and he sees this one...that looks like ah, it's a cross between an industrial vacuum cleaner and a chrome piggy bank with marital aids stuck all over its body...it's really exciting...and when he sees it, he BURSTS INTO SONG...

Joe:
Fick mich, du
miserabler hurensohn
Du miserabler hurensohn
Fick mich, du
miserabler hurensohn
Streck ihn aus
Streck aus deinen
heissen gelockten
Streck ihn aus
Streck aus deinen
heissen gelockten
Streck ihn aus
Streck aus deinen
heissen gelockten
schwanz
Ah-ee-ahee-ahhhhh!
Mach es sehr schnell
Rein und raus
Magisches Schwein
Mach es sehr schnell
Rein und raus
Magisches Schwein
Bis es spritzt, spritzt,
spritzt, spritzt
Feuer!
Bis es spritzt, spritzt,
spritzt, spritzt
Feuer!
Aber beklecker nicht
das Sofa, Sofa!
Aber beklecker nicht
das Sofa, Sofa!
Aber beklecker nicht
das Sofa, Sofa!
Aber beklecker nicht
das Sofa, Sofa!

Stunned by JOE's command of it's native tongue, a gleaming model XQJ-37 nuclear powered
Pan-Sexual Roto-Plooker named SY BORG (previously thought to be the son of the lady who
called the Police on cut two, side I), spindles over to JOE and says...

Sy Borg:
Pick me...I'm clean...
I am also programmed
for conversational
English.

This stuns JOE, who stands there speechless for a moment. Smitten by JOE's animal magnetism,
SY continues...

Sy Borg:
May I have
this dance?

And JOE, looking sharp in his housewife costume with the napkin on his head and the yellow
chiffon apron, responds boldly by repeat- ing the entreaty originally delivered in Deutsch in its
conversational English form, so that his intentions re- garding the Appliance will be made perfectly clear...

Joe:
I've got a better idea...

Fuck me, you ugly son
of a bitch
You ugly son of a bitch
Fuck me, you ugly son
of a bitch
Stick it out
Stick out yer
hot curly weenie
Stick it out
Stick out yer
hot curly weenie
Stick it out
Stick out yer
hot curly weenie
Weenie...weenie,
weenie, weenie!

Make it go fast
In and out,
(In and out)
Magical Pig

Make it go fast
In and out,
(In and out)
Magical Pig

Till it squirts, squirts,
squirts, squirts
Fire

Till it squirts, squirts,
squirts, squirts
Fire

Don't get no jizz
upon that sofa, sofa
Don't get no jizz
upon that sofa, sofa
Don't get no jizz
upon that sofa, sofa
Don't get no jizz
upon that sofa, sofa

Whereupon, in order to
prove to JOE that he is
no ordinary Appliance, SY
quotes a few lines of
traditional American Love
Poetry...

Sy Borg:
What's a girl like you
Doing in a place
like this?
Do you come
here often?
Wait a minute...
I've got it...
You're an Italian...
What? You're Jewish?
Love your nails...
You must be a Libra...
Your place or mine?
Your place or mine?
Your place or mine?
Your place or mine?

See the chrome
Feel the chrome
Touch the chrome
Heal the chrome
See the screaming
Hot black steaming
Iridescent naugahyde
python screaming
Steam Roller!

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Joe and his date are going back to the apartment to
have a little party...

Joe:
Sy Borg
Gimme dat,
gimme dat

Sy Borg
Gimme dat, give me
de chromium leg,

I beg

Sy Borg
Gimme dat,
gimme dat

Sy Borg
Gimme dat, give me
de chromium leg,

Little wires,
pliers, tires
They turn me on

Maybe I'm crazy
Maybe I'm crazy
Maybe I'm crazy,
mon...

Stroking several of SY's gleaming appendages, JOE continues...

Gee, Sy
This is a real groovy
apartment
You've got here

Sy Borg:
All government
sponsored recreational
services are clean and
efficient

Joe:
This is exciting
I never plooked
A tiny chrome-plated
machine
That looks like a
magical pig
With marital aids
stuck all over it
Such as yourself
before

Sy Borg:
You'll love it!
It's a way of life.

Joe:
Does that mean
maybe later
You'll plook me...

Sy Borg:
If you wish, we may
have a groovy orgy

Joe:
Just me and you?

Sy Borg:
I share this apartment
With a modified
Gay Bob doll
He goes all the way...
Ever try oral sex with
a miniature rubberized
homo-replica?

Joe:
No, ah, not yet,
Ah, is this him?

Sy Borg:
This is him.
Your wish is
his command
He likes you
He wants to kiss
you always
Just tell him what
you want

Joe:
Really?
Hi, little guy
Think I might get a
tiny, but exciting
Blow...job...

Gimme dat,
gimme dat
Blow job...
Gimme dat, give me
de chromium cob.

Sy Borg:
Bend over.

Joe:
Gay Bob
Blow job
Gimme dat,
gimme dat
Blow job
Gimme dat, give me
de chromium cob

Sy Borg:
You'll love it!
It looks just like a
TeleFunken U-47.

Joe:
Little leather cap
and trousers
They look so gay..
Warren just bought some
Warren just bought some
Warren just bought some
Hey...

Sy Borg:
Bob is tired.
Plook me now,
You savage rascal
Ehhh! That tickles.
You are a fun person
I like you.
I want to kiss
you always.

Joe:
Gee, this is great
How's about some
bondage and
humiliation

Sy Borg:
Anything you say,
master.

Joe:
Oh no, I don't believe
it
You're way more fun
than Mary...

Sy Borg:
You're plooking
too hard...

Joe:
And cleaner than
Lucille...

Sy Borg:
Plooking on me...

Joe:
What have I
been missing
All these years?

Sy Borg:
Too hard

Joe:
Sy...

Sy Borg:
Too hard

Joe:
Sy...

Sy Borg:
Plooking too hard
on me-e-e-e-e...

Joe:
Speak to me
Oh no...
The golden shower
must have shorted out
His master circuit
He's, he's, oh my God
I must have
plooked him...
Hey
To death...
Hey

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... You have just destroyed one model XQJ-37 Nuclear
Powered Pan- Sexual Roto-Plooker And you're gonna have to pay for it! So give up, you haven't got a chance.

Joe:
But I...
I, I, I, I, I...
I can't pay
I gave all my money
To some kinda groovy
religious guy...
Two songs ago...

Central Scrutinizer:
Come on out son...
Between the two of us
We'll find a way to
Work it out

Central Scrutinizer:
Hello there...this is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Joe was sent to a special prison where they keep all the other criminals from the music business...you know...the ones who get caught...it's a horrible place, painted all green on the inside, where musicians and former executives take turns snorting detergent and plooking each other...

(As the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER chuckles to himself for a moment, FATHER RILEY, who
became BUDDY JONES, steps into view in his new identity: FATHER RILEY B. JONES,
Prison Chaplain, who, in a rather heavy-handed piece of imagery, is now entrusted with the job of singing this song as he assists the captured executives in their quest for new meat to plook, and, once having found these victims for the princes of the industry, trades them little blobs of sanctified lubricant jelly for cigarettes and candy bars while he holds them down so the execs won't have to work too hard when they stick it in.)

...Anyway, listen, while he's in there he meets this guy who used to be a promo man for a major
record company, named Bald-Headed John... King of the Plookers...

Father Riley B. Jones:
This is the story 'bout
Bald-Headed John

Former Execs:
Dong work for Yuda,
Dong, Dong

Father Riley B. Jones:
He talks a lot 'n' it's
usually wrong

Former Execs:
Dong work for Yuda,
Dong, Dong

Father Riley B. Jones:
He said Dong
was Wong,
'N Wong was Kong
'N Dong work for
Yuda,
'N John was wrong

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again
Dong work for Yuda
Dong, Dong
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again
He said Dong
was Wong
And Wong was Kong
And Dong was Gong
'N John was wrong

Father Riley B. Jones:
John's got a sausage
Yeh man
John's got a sausage
Yeh man
John's got a sausage
that'll make you fart
John's got a sausage
that'll break
your heart
Make you fart
And break your heart
Don't bend over
if you are smart
He took a little walk
to the weenie stand
John's got a sausage
Yeh man
A great big weenie
in both his hands
John's got a sausage
Yeh man
He sucked on the end
'til the mustard squirt
He said, "Ya'll stand
back 'cause you
might get hurt"

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again
John's got a sausage
Yeh man

Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again
He said Dong
was Wong
Wong was Kong
Kong was Gong
'N John was wrong

Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Bald-Headed John:
Make way for the
iron shaschige

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Bald-Headed John:
I need a dozen towels
so the boys can take
a shower

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Bald-Headed John:
Bartender, bring me
a colada and milk

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Bald-Headed John:
Well, on second thought,
make that a water...
HtO

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Bald-Headed John:
Falcum...
Take me to the falcum!

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Bald-Headed John:
I wave my bags
Did you wave your'n

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Bald-Headed John:
Well how much
did they wave?

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Bald-Headed John:
Ah'm almost two
kilometers tall

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Bald-Headed John:
This girl must be
praketing richcraft

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Bald-Headed John:
Don't worry about
the faggot
I'll take care of
the faggot

Former Execs:
Sorry John
Sorry better
Try it again

Try it again,
Try it again
Try, try, try again...
etc., etc., etc.

Bald-Headed John:
Your Pomona is
very extinct...
Yeah, I studied with
the Dong of Tokyo
'N also with the
oriental Kato...
My body contain
uh water
I just loves the way
these Copenhagens
talks!
Driver, McDoodle...
Sausage
Salima
Salami
That looks like that
stuff that Freckles
lets out
Once a mumfth...

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Poor Joe. He's getting tired from bending over...but we tried to warn him...didn't we? Okay, Joe...you asked for it...here comes The Big One...

Joe: (anointing himself as he sings)
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy

Manx:
Roll it over 'n
grease it down
I'll drive you through
the heart of town

Joe:
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy

Manx:
Roll it over 'n
grease it down
I'll drive you through
the heart of town

JOE (who is still wearing his housewife costume from when he first picked up SY BORG in The
Closet) adjusts his little apron to a more advantageous position and sings...

Joe:
Hey, the good women,
they sure has it tough
The good men, well
there ain't enough
All the good girls are
lookin' all the time
Good men is
something that
they can't find
'Cause if they
find one miraculously
They try to be lovin'
as they can be
If they find
one and let him go
Chances are they
might not never find
one no mo'

Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy

Manx:
Roll it over 'n
grease it down
I'll drive you through
the heart of town

Joe:
A good lovin' man
is hardest to find
A good woman needs
to ease her mind
And I know a few that
need to ease it behind
All y'gotta do is
grease it down
'N everything is fine

Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy

Manx:
Roll it over 'n grease
it down
I'll drive you through
the heart of town

Joe:
A girl don't need
No fancy grease
To get herself
Some rump release
Any kind
Of lube'll do
Maybe from another
Part of you
Lube from the North
Lube from the South
Take a little slobber
From the side of
your mouth
From your mouth
From your mouth
From your mouth
From your mouth
Roll it over
Grease it down
Here come that crazy
Screamin' sound...

Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Keep it greasey
so it'll go down easy
Roll it over 'n grease it
down, down, down
Grease it down...
Oh no! Here comes
that screamin' sound
again...

And sure enough the walls of the prison did rever- berate with all sorts of screamin' sounds as
lawyers and execs and promo per- sonages all decide to jump on JOE for a spectacular high
speed gang-bang leading to...

Joe: (somewhat exhausted)
These executives
have plooked the
fuck out of me
And there's still a long
time to go before I've
Paid my debt
to society
And all I ever really
wanted to do was
Play the guitar 'n bend
the string like
Reent-toont-
teent-toont-
teenooneenoonee

I've got it
I'll be sullen
and withdrawn
I'll dwindle off into
the twilight realm
Of my own
secret thoughts
I'll lay on my back
here 'til dawn
In a semi-
catatonic state
And dream of
guitar notes
That would irritate
An executive
kinda guy...

And sure enough JOE dreams up a few of those guitar notes that every executive despises...those  low ones...every exec knows it's only the records with the high squeally ones that get to be hits (except for Duane Eddy)...

Well, I guess that
one did the trick
If they only coulda
heard it
Half-a-dozen of 'em
woulda strangled
While they was suckin'
on each others' dick
But that was only a
bunch of imaginary
Notes I played
Just a little extra
somethin'
To keep me goin'
from day to day
That's okay
I'll be gettin' outta
here pretty soon
Then I won't have
to live
In this ugly
fuckin' room
Can't wait to see
I can't wait to see
what it's like
On the outside now...
Can't wait to see
I can't wait to see
what it's like
On the outside now...
Can't wait to see
I can't wait to see
what it's like
On the outside now...
Can't wait to see
I can't wait to see
what it's like
On the outside now...
etc., etc., etc.

And JOE just lays there, dreaming imaginary guitar notes for years on end, until finally they let him out...

Joe: (to himself as he walks out of prison)
I'm out at last
Boy, the world
sure looks different
Wow...there's hardly
anything fun to do
Since they made
music illegal
But I'm hooked
I got the habit
I've got to have it
I need to play
But there's no
musicians anymore
They're all gone
Wait! I've got it!
I'll be sullen and
withdrawn
I'll dwindle off into
the twilight realm
Of my own secret
thoughts
I'll walk through
the parking lot
In a semi-
catatonic state
And dream of
guitar notes
To go with the
loading-zone
announcements.

JOE wanders through the world which by then has been totally epoxied over, carefully organized, with everyone reporting daily to his or her appointed place in a line somewhere in front of a window somewhere in a building somewhere in order to collect his or her welfare check, which, when cashed, made it possible for the young ones to continue the payments for the obsolete and irreparable appliances their parents had purchased on the instalment plan years ago, providing as security the future incomes of their children. The rest of these checks were used by the young recipients to buy fun things of their own on credit, most of which broke down or failed within moments of purchase and seemed to be stacking up everywhere.

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL
SCRUTINIZER
The White Zone
is for loading and
unloading only.
If you have to load or
unload, go to the
White Zone.
You'll love it.
It's a way of life.
This is the CENTRAL
SCRUTINIZER
The White Zone
is for loading and
unloading only.
If you have to load or
unload, go to the
White Zone.
You'll love it.
It's a way of life.
This is the CENTRAL
SCRUTINIZER
The White Zone
is for loading and
unloading only.
If you have to load or
unload...

As JOE stumbles over mounds of dead consumer goods formed into abstract statues dedicated to the Quality of American Craftsmanship, dreaming his stupid little guitar notes, he hears,
somewhere in the back of his head, the voice of MRS. BORG, taunting him:

Mrs. Borg's Voice:
Turn it down!
Turn it down!
I have children
sleeping here!
Don't you boys know
any nice songs?
I'm calling the police!
I did it!
They'll be here...
shortly!
I'm not joking around
anymore!
You'll see now!
There they are...
they're coming!
Listen to that mess,
would you!
Every day this goes on
around here!
He used to
cut my grass...
He was a
very nice boy...
He used to
cut my grass...
He was a
very nice boy...
He used to
cut my grass...
He was a
very nice boy...
He used to
cut my grass...
He was a
very nice boy...

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Yes...he used to be a nice boy...He used to cut the
grass...But now his mind is totally destroyed by music. He's so crazy now he even believes that
people are writing articles and reviews about his imaginary guitar notes, and so, continuing to
dwindle in the twilight realm of his own secret thoughts, he not only dreams imaginary guitar notes, but, to make matters worse, dreams imaginary vocal parts to a song about the imaginary
journalistic profession...

Joe: (clutching the hood ornament of an ancient car)
Maybe you thought I
was the Packard Goose
Or the Ronald
MacDonald of the
nouveau-abstruse
Well fuck all them
people, I don't
need no excuse
For being what I am
Do you hear me, then?

All them rock 'n roll
writers is the worst
kind of sleaze
Selling punk like
some new kind of
English disease
Is that the wave
of the future?
Aw, spare me please!

Oh no, you gotta go
Who do you write for?
I wanna know
I believe you is the
government's whore
And keeping peoples
dumb is where you're
coming from
And keeping peoples
dumb is where you're
coming from
Fuck all them writers
with the pen in
their hand
I will be more
specific so they
might understand
They can all
kiss my ass
But because it's
so grand
They'd best just
stay away
Hey, hey, hey

Hey, Joe, who
did you blow?
Moe pushed
the button boy
And you went
to the show
Better suck a little
harder or the shekels
won't flow
And I don't mean
your thumb
So on your knees
you bum
Just tell yourself
it's yum
And suck it 'till
you're numb

Journalism's
kinda scary
And of it
we should be wary
Wonder what became
of Mary?

And no sooner has he wondered, a vision of Mary appears to him, delivering a little lecture...

Voice Of Mary's Vision:
Hi! It's me...
the girl from the bus...
Remember?
The last tour?
Well...

Information is
not knowledge
Knowledge is
not wisdom
Wisdom is not truth
Truth is not beauty
Beauty is not love
Love is not music
Music is THE BEST...
Wisdom is the domain
of the Wis
(which is extinct).
Beauty is a French
phonetic corruption
Of a short cloth
neck ornament
Currently in
resurgence...

And no sooner has she spoken (which is awkward and probably incorrect but what the fuck),
enormous flabby short cloth neck ornaments obscure the horizon in a multitude, beating their ugly wings and working their hidden chrome snap attachments as they resurge in the direction of the White Zone seeking snack material near the Utensil Shrines of Greater America...

Joe:
If you're in the
audience and like
what we do
Well, we want you
to know that we
like you all too
But as for the
sucker who will
write the review
If his mind
is prehensile
(His mind
is prehensile)
He'll put down
his pencil
(He'll put down
his pencil)
And have
himself a squat
On the Cosmic Utensil
(Cosmic Utensil)
Go give it all you got
On the Cosmic Utensil
(Cosmic Utensil)
Sit 'n spin until you rot
On the Cosmic Utensil
(Cosmic Utensil)
He really needs
to squat
On the Cosmic Utensil
(Cosmic Utensil
Cosmic Utensil)

Now that I got that
over with
I'll just play my
imaginary guitar again
Hey...
soundin' pretty good!
Hey...get down, me...
Boy, what an
imagination!
Love myself better
than I love myself...
I think...
What tone!
Sounds like an
Elegant Gypsy!
What is that?
Musk?
It's hip!

Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER...Joe has just worked himself into an imaginary frenzy
during the fade- out of his imaginary song...He begins to feel depressed now. He knows the end is near. He has realized at last that imaginary guitar notes and imaginary vocals exist only in the
imagination of The Imaginer...and... ultimately, who gives a fuck anyway...So...So... Excuse
me...So...Who gives a fuck anyway? So he goes back to his ugly little room and quietly dreams his last imaginary guitar solo...

(after the song ends)
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER...As you can see, MUSIC can get you pretty fucked
up...Take a tip from Joe, do like he did, hock your imaginary guitar and get a good job...Joe did, and he's a happy guy now, on the day shift at the Utility Muffin Research Kitchen, arrogantly twisting the sterile canvas snoot of a fully-charged icing anointment utensil. And every time a nice little muffin comes by on the belt, he poots forth...

And if this doesn't convince you that MUSIC causes BIG TROUBLE...then maybe I should turn off my plastic megaphone and sing the last song on the album in my regular voice...

Central Scrutinizer:
A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
You'll make
a muffin betta
With a green rosetta
A little green rosetta
A tiny green rosetta
A green rosetta
A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
A tiny green rosetta
You'll make
a muffin really betta
It's betta
It's really getting betta
It's betta, it's betta
With a green rosetta
Setta, setta
And a green rositti, too
Green rositti
A little green rositti
It's really, really meaty
A little green rositti

You'll make
a muffin really betta
It's betta
(Hey, really out
there...that was
really good)
It's really getting betta
It's betta, it's betta
With a green rosetta
Setta, setta
(Good God, give the
drummer some)
Green rosetta

A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
(Setta, setta, setta,
etc....)
(Make a muffin, make
a muffin, make a muffin,
Make a muffin betta,
make a muffin betta,
etc....)
With a green rosetta
A little green rosetta
You'll make a muffin betta
(Etc....)

Good God! You're
really jammin'! Now
the Reggae version,
hey, for the People in
the Third World...
we haven't forgotten
anybody on this
song...for all of you
French people...who
think that you're outta
sight...And for the
people in Spain...who
think the French
people are where it's
at...And for the people
in Mongolia who
always wanted to go to
Spain for a vacation...
And for those of you in
Taiwan who got
chumped, this chorus
is for you: (Rang Tang
Ding Dong, I am the
Japanese Sandman...
Take eight...)
Green rosetta
A green rosetta
a little green rosetta
(Against the Reggae
beat, though...
No, it's still Reggae,
but it's all backwards)

A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
You'll make
a muffin betta
A little green rosetta
(Etc., etc., etc...)

Now you see, some
places in the Third
World it might be
difficult to dance to
this because the
kerosene record player
is not a very efficient
device...And a lot of
times they run out of,
they run out of spunk
right in the middle of
the chorus...Causing
the song to sound like
this...

A little green rosetta

However we continue
in spite of the fact that
the fuel may be low on
your record player. We
suggest that in places
in the Fourth World
where things are really
tough that you keep
the record player
going by rubbing two
sticks together. And if
all else fails, throw the
record away...build
your own green
rosetta...try this
recipe: We'll start with
a lump of grass...the
grass bone connected
to the ankle bone...the
knee bone connected
to the wishbone...and
then everybody moves
to New York and goes
to a party with
Warren. Hey!
And we've flown in, at
great expense, (triple
scale, no less, ladies
and gentlemen), Steve
Gad's clone to play the
out-chorus on this
song...he's really outa-
site, in spite of the fact
that the click track is
totally irrelevant to
what he's doing right now.
I'm listening to the
click, yes I'm suffering
with the click track
right now...this guy is
totally out of sync with
it, but what the fuck.
Ed Mann will call him
up later, show him the
sign. Okay Vinnie,
where is five?

They're pretty good
musicians
They're pretty good
musicians
They're pretty good
musicians
(The singer's not too
good, but the musicians
are pretty good)
They're pretty good
musicians
They're pretty good
musicians
They're pretty good
musicians
They're pretty good
musicians
But it don't make no
difference
If they're good
musicians
Because anybody who
would buy this record
Doesn't give a fuck if
there's good musicians
On it
Because this is a
stupid song
AND THAT'S THE
WAY I LIKE IT

A little green rosetta
Hey!
A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
A little green rosetta
You make
a muffin betta
With a green rosetta
A little green rosetta
Rosetta, rosetta
rosetta
(etc., etc., etc....)

Al Malkin:
Zetta...